Erased Age
by Star24NightFromDA
Summary: At this point, the class of 1-A didn't know if having their teacher, in his current state, was a blessing or a curse… It was definitely a curse to the staff members, but a blessing to the underground world…
1. Subtleties

**Prologue**

Subtleties

* * *

Summary:

At this point, the class of 1-A didn't know if having their teacher, in his current state, was a blessing or a curse… It was definitely a curse to the staff members But a blessing to the underground world…

**(Author's Note):**

Happy New Years!

Soo, fell into BNHA... and into the part of the fandom that likes Eraserhead.

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Why favor this trashbag teacher? Because he's relatable as hell, protective over his children, (and kinda cute for a scruffy, grumpy dude)!

Anyways, this is a story that I've been dying to write ever since—thanks to my sibling—I was forced to watch the anime.

(Still have yet to read the manga—but I've seen bits and pieces of it.)

Anyways, I was kind of pissed that there weren't many Shouta Aizawa fanfics out there. At least not the ones with the tropes that I'd imagine there would be. And this was the product of that...

Rip sleep  
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Here's a link to a drawing (type devaint art in the front of this):

/star24night/art/Unerasable-825496840

Now, let me skrt skrt outta here to let ya reads!

* * *

The large crimson doors, of UA's most famous classroom, swings open. It's last occupant steps outside into the hallway—he automatically fills his lungs with fresh air. Like a deflating balloon, he quickly exhales and wipes his forehead. His ears catch the distant footsteps of children as they exit the building.

It was only Wednesday, but the usually cheerful pro was already starting to feel a bit dragged. Dragged by the current heatwave, or the recently graded English exams—he wasn't sure. It was probably a mixture of both…

Or maybe it was his, now difficult, nightly job. That'd make more sense...

The thirty-one-year-old teacher—tucking a very thick folder under his arm—sighs and saunters down the nearest window to examine himself in its reflection. It had been a pretty humid day, so he wasn't sure if the amount of gel added to his mohawk had kept his hair up or not—oh, how his hair hated humidity!

Lucky for him, he had enough hair gel on, and—with a triumphant, yet tired, smile—Hizashi strolls down towards the teacher's lounge.

School just ended, and he'd been meaning to catch his grumpy, sleep-deprived friend. He didn't know if Aizawa's quirk came with spidey-senses or not, but somehow the man had managed to avoid him all day.

Earlier, the blondie had tried to approach him after homeroom—around 8:37 am to be exact—but instead, he was greeted by Class 1-A's students. All they needed was Hizashi's confused look to point him in the direction that Eraserhead had taken off to—the teachers' lounge. So when he went there—expecting a mustard-colored caterpillar to be laying on the floor—the voice hero had been disappointed to find the place empty. Cacoon left behind…

At the time, Hizashi had shrugged to himself and decided to get a hold of his childhood friend later. Homeroom wasn't the only block Aizawa covered today, and Hizashi only had one class to teach—the 7th period, the very last lecture of the day. He wasn't too keen on teaching anything non-English, but the Japanese teacher was out sick and Present Mic was more than happy to teach his class of listeners.

With all that time on his hands, Hizashi had thought he could finish his grading—and potentially catch the evasive underground hero during lunch.

But here Hizashi was, at the end of 7th period, entering the teachers' lounge—still searching for Shouta. He scanned the room in hopes of seeing a black-clad figure slouching over a boatload of assignments—and potentially coffee smeared up his face. How he did that, Hizashi'll never know...

…Well, there sure were a few piles of assignments...

And there were two figures but neither of them were Aizawa. Eh, well… he'll just have to ask him Saturday afternoon then…

Mic slips into the room.

"Nemuri, Toshinori! Not the peeps I were looking for, but mind if I join in? I've got a few assignments myself that need some proof-reading," chirped the DJ as he tried throwing his pointer fingers at them—nearly dropping his folder.

"Of course!"

"Only if you help us with ours," grinned Nemuri. She pushes her recently finished paperwork to the side.

"Sure thing!"

Present Mic ambles his way to the spot where the grading duo were sitting. He places his practically exploding folder on the welcoming table-space that Nemuri provided, and throws himself onto the sofa—next to All Might.

"So, who were you looking for, Hizashi," asked Toshinori as he drew an almighty smiley-face, of himself, on Bakugo's aced training report. Hizashi noted that the drawing wasn't half bad.

"Was it Mr. I-Need-To-Grade-These-Alone-Without-Distractions, because you just missed him," scoffed Nemuri who waved her pencil in a circle. The pencil lands on her frowning lips. The navy-blue-haired teacher was currently scanning over Kaminari's history exam—quietly tsking to herself and marking up the page. Her eyes didn't leave the exam when Hizashi's arms flew up.

"Aww, come on!"

"Yeah, I'm guessing he went to his quarters—considering how busy he seemed... he did say he had patrol tonight…" Toshinori thought out loud while looking at the ceiling. The mustached DJ sighs in exasperation—lowering his hands from the air.

"Bummer… would've been nice to ask him today if he wanted to guest star on my Saturday night broadcast—I haven't been able to catch him all day," huffed Mic as he crosses his arms.

"Pfft-Aizawa?! Willingly guest starring on the world's number one hit radio station? Highly unlikely, sweat-heart."

Toahinori's eyebrow rose by a hair when he caught Present Mic sulking. Nemuri continues.

"He probably smelled the oncoming media lurking in the air and booked it before you got the chance to ask," sniggered the navy-Baird heroine. She was now peeking at Mic from behind Kaminari's barely-passed exam. But she looks back down at her work, "did you mention anything on the radio last night—anything that might've cued him that you'd be seeking him out or something?"

"Maayhapss~" replied Hizashi as he momentarily looked to the side. The female pro hero hummed.

"-Wait, Aizawa listens to your radio station?" the former number-one didn't know whether he would find this information amusing or unbelievable if it were true.

Yeah, most of the people Toshinori knew—including himself—would often listen to Present Mic's radio station, but Aizawa? It was extremely hard to imagine. Almost too funny… then again, he did like cats…

Toshinori hides a shudder as his mind wandered off, 'oh, the Spring Roll Incident-'

Thankfully, Present Mic reels him out of the horrid memories…

"I'm pretty sure he listens to the show every now and then. I've asked him before, but he never admitted to anything," Hizashi waves a hand. "But, whenever I spoke about my show with him, there were a few times where it seemed like Aizawa knew exactly what I was talking about."

Yagi's mouth subconsciously creaks open.

"That man is so restrained—I don't think I've seen him genuinely smile once since our teenage years, Yamada," Nemuri rolled her eyes. She decided to put the exams aside all together until this conversation was over, "that stick far up his ass definitely won't let him say yes to your invitation—it's practically up to his mouth now. I'm surprised he can even speak."

All Might disregards Midnight's slightly inappropriate metaphor.

"I know he accompanied you during the Sport's Festival and all, but didn't you drag him into it," pitched in All Might. He too discarded his papers—it wasn't wise to converse while grading his students' training-evaluation reports… Well, if you count grading as putting drawings and letters next to Aizawa's already scored grades...

"Well yeah… we all know he hates the media in general, but—somehow—he's really good at explaining his unbiased perspectives on subjects-"

Nemuri and Toshinori didn't miss the slight pout when Hizashi said the word unbiased—they had no idea what had caused that reaction, but choose not to comment on it.

"-People really listen when he speaks for some reason. Plus, he won't be televised like he was after the Hosu incident… I just think his commentary would help my listeners see how only a small portion of UA's disciplinary methods suck—which doesn't include the license exam," Mic finished.

"Whoa, wait. How did that come up on the radio?"

The voice hero mentally kicks himself—no going back now...

"Endeavor," Hizashi grumbles out while rubbing his face—the other two looked at each other. Nemuri and Toshinori had a small suspicion as to why that hero's name had been brought up, but they wanted to hear if they assumptions were correct—so they waited for the him to continue.

"...okay, I've been trying to keep this on the low—since it'll definitely burden Shoto, the students, and us staff members—but I guess you guys'll hear of it eventually…"

"Wow, you actually kept a secret," Midnight smirked at him. Present Mic couldn't help but cross his arms.

"H-hey! Since when could I not?!"

The heroine gives him a knowing look while All Might stays silent—simply amazed at the level of maturity being displayed by UA's finest. Hizashi rolls his eyes, "WHATEVER!"

Toshinori sheepishly smiles at Nemuri's amusement, and then they both bring their attention back to the subject. "Anyways, back to what I was saying—before Nemuri so rudely interrupted—ever since Shoto was unable to get his hero license, Endeavor's been throwing online beef at us and our methods." The blondie's hands dance around.

"Huh, how come Nezu hasn't heard of this?"

"Nah, he has... Actually, we've both known since about two weeks ago. Nezu and I just thought no one would take Endeavor seriously though—the dude's Endeavor," he says as he splays his arms out. "But I guess we were wrong because last week comments, on said topic, started showing themselves up on my homepage! On my radio and on other sites too!"

The other two follow along while Hizashi's hand gestures intensify. "It turns out that, even though they don't like his father, the listeners are sticking up for Shoto," sighed the voice hero—arms finally resting at his sides. He was glad that they were speaking up for the kid, but not for something like this.

"Our methods had nothing to do with why he didn't receive a license—why not invite young Shoto himself to your broadcast? All he has to do is explain."

"The media is trickier than you think, Toshinori, you should know this by now. They'll think we've brainwashed him—plus I don't think his father would appreciate us taking advantage of Shoto. Even if the kid wanted to."

"Oh… R-right…" Toshinori rubs the back of his neck as he recalls the last time he got involved with Shoto. How Endeavor reacted.

"Well then, let's take Endeavor to Civil Court—what he's doing is considered slander to UA and staff," Nemuri throws in.

"With all that UA just went through in the past few months and the possibility of messing up Shoto Todoroki's career—Nezu and I don't think it's worth it. Which is why we agreed to fight back through 'Put Your Hands Up Radio.' It's worked in the past," Hizashi's determined eyes sparkled with pride as he rose a clenched fist. Then he points at the two, "also—heads up guys—don't be surprised if Nezu calls in a meeting about this on Friday."

'Now that I think about it, it wouldn't be a bad place corner and T-pose Shouta…' thought the DJ.

"I'm more surprised Nezu hasn't called a meeting already," mumbled the retired hero while rubbing his face, "just one more problem on our plate, sheesh."

"Now we really need to get that stick in the mud on-air, have you called or texted him yet?"

"If I do that, you and I both know it'd be easier for him to shut down the invitation and avoid me entirely—I'd have a better chance in confronting him-"

"You mean dragging him-" snickered Nemuri.

"Eh, it works, right?"

"Wait, what? D-did I hear that right?"

They quietly turn to look at All Might, and he takes their silence as a yes.

"-Aren't we adults, why not just explain the situation to him," Toshinori genuinely asked with mild concern.

Both Nemuri and Hizashi stare at him for a few seconds—making the retired hero feel somewhat self-conscious.

"He really hasn't gotten to know Aizawa, huh-"

"Nope."

"Really—even though he doesn't like to deal with the media—I don't think the man would let something like slander slide," the messy blonde-haired figure tried to reassure them.

"No, he wouldn't—which is why he'd push others to do it instead. Anything media is basically a terminal allergy to him, so of course, an explanation through text or call would prompt him to urgently seek someone else to do it. The only reason why he did it those other three times was because he had been placed on the spot," Nemuri explained while she tossed her hand out in front of herself.

The other two males vividly remembered the look on Aizawa's face when he was told to shoo away the reporters that were trying to raid the school, or when he was under the spotlight on national TV—he didn't speak much during the Sport's Festival either.

'He wouldn't admit it, but his soft-spot for those kids pushed him to at least try with the media,' the two youngest pro heroes in the room similarly thought…

"Honestly though, I don't think anyone could have handled those situations better than he had," Present Mic added as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"I still don't understand why we can't just persuade him enough to go."

"Trust me, it would never work."

"And just in case we can't get him on air—or even if we do—would you guys like to guest star too? It'd make more of an impact on the listeners!"

'Well, that was a quick jump in the mood,' thought Toshinori as he watched the two begin to interact.

"Sure, count me in. What are the times," Nemuri excitedly asked.

"Cool, cool! It'll be from 8:30 pm to 11 pm, but guests are welcome to stay until 5 am when the show ends. What about you All Might? You in?"

All Might looked between the two and shook his head, "I don't like the idea of forcing Aizawa into this, but I'll join. I've got nothing else to do around those times anyway."

"All~ right, All~ Might! I'll make sure to announce Saturday's guest stars to~night, so the listeners'll know to tune in. Now, I think we should really get going on these papers—it's getting kinda late—who wants to start?"

0~ 0~0 ~0

In a calm small alleyway of Tokyo, Japan, a sixty-six-year-old woman—dressed in rosemary-gold attire—was hunched over a brown box, weeping. Unaware of the bright red-gold lights, and cloths that danced to entertain her, she sat there—contemplating. The white rose in her hair was in its last stages of wilting—its petals still unable to let go from the stem lodged in her thinning white hair.

He had taught her to smile, told her to take life in—gave her the world…

Told her that she had been unfairly treated—that she had deserved better.

That she was perfect the way she was.

He made her feel deserved, loved, fulfilled and now…

Empty.

Slowly reeling her torso back from the box—and bringing her shaking hands to its lid—she gently discarded its cover.

Alone.

She lifts up her life-time accomplishment… her catastrophic downfall, and with glassy eyes, she stares at it—and decides…

* * *

[If you guys ever draw any of these scenes, send me a link—in the reviews—so I can see/put the link here in the fic!]  
(Have an idea for this story? Send it in the reviews and I'll consider)!


	2. How Peachy

**Chapter 1**

How Peachy…

* * *

Normalcy.

Shouta Aizawa didn't like to go against it if he didn't have to—doing so would often throw him into more unnecessary tasks. So when he found himself searching for the keys to Class 1-A's dormitory, he only wished that he were back in his own room.

_'They had to pick tonight to do it,'_thought the disgruntled, bleak man—he ignores the feeling of steam coming out his ears as he finally unlocks multiple security codes.

Earlier, right after school, the erasure hero had made a beeline to his room and had been dumbfounded—not in a good way—to find that construction had already begun around his quarters. The staff recently agreed to use their budget to fix up some of the school's necessities—upgrading phone lines, improving training areas, etc. They also agreed to renovate some of the newly built structures—since there had been a mistake during the quick installations of the dorms—and Aizawa knew that the building he was currently living in was sure to be tinkered with.

He just didn't think they'd do it on a school night…

He had been determined to stay in his room and try not to let the noise bother him and his grading. His stubbornness wasn't enough though. The construction was _literally_right outside his window, and—even though his room was on the fifth floor—no matter how hard he tried to white out the noise, it was no use.

Cementos' quirk activating and the constant clashing of rebar against rebar had slowly driven him _up_the wall and _through_the roof—to the point where he resorted to using his Capture Weapon to leap out the window and leave. But not before he jammed everything and his paperwork into a bag. If he was going to stay somewhere else for the night, even if it was for a few hours, then he needed his stuff—especially since he and his class would be going on a two-day field-trip tomorrow…

Which brings him back to his current fiddling with the extra passcodes of Class 1-A's dormitory. Finally, he opens the front door and enters the empty common room. Right away Aizawa notices how messy their lounging space looked. They must have been eating there because he could see small leftover crumbs across the table and a few rings of liquid—one of which was a stain on one of the pillows. In fact, the pillows were practically sprinkled around the place. And if all that wasn't a tale-tell sign that they had been eating there, then the few dirty plates lying around and the stack of dishes in the sink sealed his suspicions...

He had told them he'd be checking to make sure that their common room and kitchen were clean by 8 pm each night—around the same time he took off for patrol—so they still have two and a half hours left before consequences would be considered.

With a frown, Aizawa shuffles himself to the kitchen island and sets his two bags down. He would've sat at one of the dining tables, but he didn't like the cluttered feeling they gave. The nocturnal pro hero pulls out his laptop, binder, tablet, and the remainder of the ungraded written training exams from last Friday. Once his glasses were on—and his hair was tied up—the teacher began working.

It was kind of weird that there weren't any distractions in his rowdy students' dormitory—he was actually prepared to turn around and make the long walk back to an empty room at UA if that were the case. He was grateful that it wasn't, and it seemed like everyone was too busy packing, finishing up tomorrow's online due assignment, or hanging out with each other. Gratefully bringing himself back to focus, Aizawa starts scanning their work.

During his hour of grading, he vaguely hears the door to the front open and close. He didn't fully notice the four sperate footsteps that enter, and if they noticed him typing away, marking-up their sheets, or his half-bun, they didn't say a thing. He didn't acknowledge Mina, Tsuyu, and Ochaco when they walked by a few minutes later, or how they awed at how unusual their teacher looked—it was their first time seeing him with glasses on.

To Aizawa, it was a bit awkward being semi-aware of his students while he worked, but it was better than adding an extra ten-minute walk to an hour and a half of unproductiveness. There were only six exams to look over now. Yes, the grading was going surprisingly smoothly… until a certain speedster stumbled into the kitchen, towards the fridge…

At first, Aizawa ignored Iida, his odd expressions, and his normally tense strides, but when the youth started consecutively sneezing, the erasure hero peeled his eyes away from his paperwork.

"-AH, ahaHCHOO! Ahah..." The class rep swipes his noise, "Pardon, excuse me, Mr. Aizaw-Ah AH-" Iida rasped out as he held his nose to stop his sniffling. Aizawa waited for the boy to make eye-contact before looking at the food that Iida had just set aside—the sick one followed his gaze.

"Make sure to warm that up enough before you ea-" he was cut off by a sudden and speedy sneeze to the face—followed by another set of sneezes directed elsewhere. Aizawa couldn't close his eyes or raise his arms in time and he felt all the droplets land on his face and upper body. When the poor, pale teen finally finished his last sneeze, he turned paper-white at the realization of what he did. He had sprayed his sickness all over his teacher and his materials!

A few seconds went by where neither one took a breath, and then-

"I-I- M-Mr. Aizawa! I'M VERY SOR- I-I-" Iida went off on a ramble to try and find the right words to apologize, but he trailed off when Aizawa carefully rose a hand. The teen couldn't read the full extent of his mood, since his eyes were shut, but from the grimace etched on his face…

"...get the paper-towel."

Yikes...

With a gulp, followed by an involuntary sniffle, the sick hero-in-training walks over to the countertop—where the paper-towels sat—and passes them to his teacher. The teacher sighs, takes it, and dumps a bit of water from a water bottle he'd been saving in his other bag. Then he promptly presses his face against the wet paper and smears off what was hopefully not sticky or green.

Iida was stock-still looking down—trying to hold in another oncoming sneeze—while the older male's eyes bore into what little view of the kid's face he could see. Aizawa takes a breath in and tries to calm himself down.

_'An accident—he's sick. It was something he clearly, could have simply, avoided by covering his mouth with an elbow. But it was an accident…'_

A quiet sigh escapes his lips as he breaks his focus and continues to rub the rest of—what was hopefully not—snot off his torso. The boy tenses up even more when the night hero decides to speak—ensuing sneeze forgotten...

"Iida… next time use your elbow—it shouldn't be too hard to cover your mouth-"

"Yes, Mr. A-Aizawa," said the speedster without missing a beat.

"Also, if you're that sick I don't think you should attend tomorrow's field trip."

"N-no, I'm fine! Really I-"

"Then your face shouldn't look that green, should it?"

Aizawa leaned himself to the right—Iida's right—so that he could hint the boy to take a quick glance at the window across from them. It was nighttime so reflections in the window would be easier to see—Iida looks. The sixteen-year-old could see his pale-green visage looking back—and even from here he could see the dampness in his hair…

"... no… but… I was really looking forward to go-ACHO!"

The teacher blinks in slight apprehension, but it soon turns into quiet relief—the teen had used his elbow this time. Once his sneezing fit stopped, the class representative brings his composure back—albeit not as sternly as usual due to the shivering. Shouta scans the kid up and down—taking note of all the symptoms.

Knowing that the kid was going to be stubborn—as most of his students were thanks to Midoriya—Aizawa rubs his left cheek in reconsideration… Another moment of silence went by before the pro hero opens his mouth.

"Depending on the stage of your sickness, Recovery Girl might be able to speed up the process—so that you won't be so sick when we leave tomorrow. I'd go visit her now before she closes her office."

"I-I will! Thank you, Mr. Aizawa!"

Aizawa nods and watches his student make a grab for the leftovers.

"Don't forget to use her microwave, and let me know when you get there."

"Yes, sir," Tenya said as he speed-walks out of the front door and towards the school.

Once again, Aizawa sighs…

_'I thought I told him not to call me that…'_these kids were going to be the death of him…

If it wasn't for his patrol-shift, Aizawa would've made sure he got there safely...

He brings his focus back to wiping himself and his things down. He wonders if UA provides disinfectants to their students… well they aren't babies, are they? Getting up from his seat, the thirty-one-year-old walks to the cabinets below the sink.

_'Great, I'll either have to photocopy their exams or wait twenty-four hours for the germs to die…Can't have anyone else getting sick...'_

"Hi, Mr. Aizawa!"

Leaving the cabinet door half-opened, said teacher looks up from his bending form. He was met with the vice representative of the class, Momo. Aizawa corrects his stance and blinks in order to hear what she has to say.

"I hope you don't mind, but we're planning to clean up right about now," she says as she takes a quick glance at his setup on the kitchen island. He takes the hint and nods—he was going to end it anyways. The germs prevented him from finishing anything, and he only had about thirty-five minutes left until he went out on patrol… Eh well.

Eraserhead nods then swiftly takes the disinfectant wipes from under the sink—he carefully avoids wiping the screens on his computer and tablet. He'll clean the screens later with something that won't damage them. Some of his students start trickling into the common room for the procrastinated cleanup, and he begins packing his things.

Aizawa's phone vibrates and he quickly pulls it out to see the speedster's message. He promptly sends a text in reply to Iida's.

**_'When you get back to the dorm let me know.'_**

He waits for the salute emoji before shutting off his phone.

"Yaoyorozu."

"Yes?"

"...Make sure to keep an eye on Iida when he gets back—he's at Recovery Girl's office."

"Huh, what happened?"

"Came down with the flu, he should be back before eight-thirty," he tells her while he finishes wiping down the island countertop. She nods and without another word, Aizawa heads straight to the guest bathroom to take a shower and change his gear set.

Tonight he was about to bust a major drug-dealing, a potential heist he heard of, and help Detective Tsuckauchi with an interrogation. He needed to be sure that he had everything prepared.

Once the gathered students were sure that he was in the bathroom, and out of earshot, they begin to chatter.

"-Man, if Aizawa was worried about Iida than he must've been pretty sick," Kirishima broke the silence. He and Todoroki were starting the dishes.

"Poor Iida, I really hope he gets better..." Momo said with her eyebrows furrowed.

"Iida did look kind of green around the gills this morning. It probably got worse just now-" Midoyria assumed, but was cut off by Mina.

"Nah, I think Mr. Aizawa's just being an over-protective Dadzawa," she titters with a grin.

"SHhh, you know he doesn't like that nickname or the idea, Mina," Hagakure whispers loudly as she picks up the plates.

"And yet, when Midnight dropped the nickname that one time, none of you even tried to shoot the idea down. Admit it, we all know that he really does care about us. He's like a burnt marshmallow with a gooey core, get it?! A Dadzawa mar-"

"Holy shit! Do you have daddy issues or something?! Just drop it already," retorted the short-fused Bakugo, who nearly burns the cloth he was using to clean a table.

"No, but it looks like someone does," snickered the pink girl.

"THE HE-"

"OKAY! Can you guys stop? We're here to clean, not fight," Midoryia butted in while sparing Shoto a quick glance. Shoto wasn't looking and was minding his own business—now putting in an effort to make sure that the plates were spotless.

The others notice Deku's sudden shift in his gaze and remember who was in the room. Mina shrinks a little while Bakugo looks to the side and crosses his arms—both fell silent.

"Plus, we have less than twenty minutes left," said the green-haired boy as he multi-tasked between sweeping and picking up the pillows. The one stained pillow being thoroughly scrubbed by Yaoyorozu.

"That's more than enough time to finish, Deku!"

"So then let's get going, man, I wanna get this over with," Kirishima threw in over his shoulder.

"Yeah, I need to go make sure Iida's okay," the freckled teen states as they pick up their pace.

0~ 0~0 ~0

Eighteen minutes later and Aizawa walks into the common room. Only Todoroki, Yaoyorozu, and Mina were left. They were sitting on the couch watching TV—some strange show about two butt-naked, censored, heroes surviving in the wilderness together.

He wouldn't comment on it.

Satisfied with the outcome of their cleaning, Shouta quietly drops his luggage behind one of the couches—where his three students sat. He was about to leave his bags there for when he came back but thought better than to give some of his shameless students the chance to snoop around his stuff.

He didn't have anything to hide, but he'd hate to have to search through two disorganized backpacks. So he goes upstairs to the second floor and overrides the passcode to the dorm room across Adyama's—drops his stuff, locks the door shut, comes back downstairs, and heads straight towards the exit.

"Don't forget about Iida, Yaoyorozu."

"I won't," she affirmations.

"Bye, Mr. Aizawa!"

"Hope patrol goes well."

Their teacher nods and leaves.

0~ 0~0 ~0

Patroling had gone down. The. _Drain_.

Sure, Eraserhead was able to capture and stop the drug-dealers—that had been a cinch for someone like himself, who had about 16 years of expertise with the underground world. But the thieves from the heist were a whole other story.

They had been more coordinated in their plan and seemed to know their way around the building they targeted. Which meant there must have been a ringleader watching through the cameras and giving them feedback—after all, they were stealing classified government information from one of Tokyo's most well-guarded facilities. How else would they have avoided security, the watchmen, and himself?

It had taken Eraserhead nearly half an hour to finally spot one of them, and once he trapped the thief he immediately tried to interrogate her. She wouldn't spit out anything about their goals, so he chopped a hand to the side of her neck—knocking her out as he radioed her location.

Yes, these thieves were, for the most part, well organized.

But, either way, Aizawa managed to corner the rest of the robbers on the roof—where they had a helicopter waiting for them. Before any of them knew it, the erasure hero took the majority of them down—including the gunman in the chopper—and successfully obtained the hard drive that they stole.

Everything would have gone smoothly had he been aware of the guy hiding behind the air ducts. The outlier had a rare quirk combination between camouflaging skin and quill-like nails—and, of course, those quills acted as invisible bullets. In the end, Aizawa found himself gunned down among three armed heist members. The outlier himself coming out of his hiding spot…

"OH, HO, hoo, a little too late to use that quirk of yours, _Eraser_," chortled the now visible man as he approaches the kneeling hero.

"..." Aizawa stayed quiet—looking, through his golden googles. He tries not to let the foreign objects, lodged into his body, cloud his mind with pain.

_'Look for an opening,' _he told himself as he analyzes the distances of the three locked guns at his head. The quills in his left shoulder lost their camouflage, and now became a part of his view...

His fingers tingled with adrenaline as they shot up to grab the scarf around his neck. The other hand supporting him as he ducked. Aizawa didn't need Sir Nighteye's quirk to see where the other guy was going to throw a cheap shot—what he didn't expect was the sudden sucker-punch to his nose-

Stars dance above his head as his sight flashes. Eraserhead could have sworn that he was seeing two of the same people... wait...

His vision clears to the best it can and—true to what he had imagined—there were two-

"Heh, that one always seems to surprise them," said the other camouflaging-criminal, who had smashed his knuckles into the erasure hero's skull—_smack-dab_in the middle. If it weren't for the situation he was in, Eraser would've been thrilled to have temporarily cured his dry eye. Instead, through the numbing throbs on his sinuses, he brought his thoughts back to strategizing.

_'I'll need to risk it now that there're two-'_

"Please, if you'd so kindly," smirked the twin thief as he held his blood-speckled hand out.

The other brother taking a victory stance like a fool, "Comply and we'll let you go."

The man's words failed to match his expression. Almost like it didn't even come from him... and from the look in the man's eyes, Aizawa could tell that they'd fill him up with bullets the second he handed the drive over.

Like he'd even think of doing that in the first place...

So, he merely bores into the first twin's eyes with what remaining focus he had as his erasure quirk re-activates. Finding this as retaliation, the guy attempts to throw another punch, but Eraser uses this as a distraction.

_'Idiot—should've used your quirk when you had the chance-'_

He quickly forms a whirlwind with his Capture Weapon—promptly covering himself from the crossfire in the best way that he could. And, in that small moment, the scarfless hero leaps towards the camouflage-guy that shot him. Gunshots halt for the heist members didn't want to accidentally shoot one of their teammates—a few of them beginning to approach the fight.

Painfully reeling up his arm—Eraser's fist connects with the man's jaw, and he doesn't wait for the spit to fling out of the quilled-bastard's mouth before knocking him out with an abrupt uppercut. At the same time, he arches his back—narrowly missing a kick to his solar plexus, and landing his own split-kick on the other twin's face.

They both crumble to the concrete roof. Like a phantom, he doesn't miss a beat and swiftly skims to the other thieves. Jumping out of their wits, they open fire.

All they could see was a black, misty blur phasing through the air, and they all pathetically fail to land a shot on him. Eraser makes a grab for his still-airborne weapon as he continues to zig-zag his way towards one of the enemies—artillery now occasionally nipping his flesh through the makeshift shield of his scarf.

Eraserhead allows himself to blink behind his goggles while he rolls under close gunfire—his rush barely covering the blinding spike from his wound. With all his will he nearly snaps his own wrists as he positions himself into a coiled hand-stand. Then Aizawa spring-kicks the assailant in the gut. His feet nearly lost in the guy's stomach due to the sheer force.

Following the momentum, he crouches on top of the freshly knocked out gunman—clutching his shoulder. He raises his obsidian orbs from the motionless body beneath him and wipes the blood from his mouth and nose while slowly standing up—activating his quirk and staring at the two remaining enemies across the roof.

Their only escape… the chopper behind him…

Their guns shaking in their hands as they took in the sight—eight of their heist members scattered like rag-dolls across the roof. All bloodied.

Unconscious...

One glanced at the other and then bolted for the ledge—leaving his partner behind. It seemed like the running thief was part of the escape group because Aizawa could see a parachute bag on his back. Eraser launches his Capture Weapon at the guy and successfully traps him right before he reaches the edge. Shouta, in a window of a millisecond, mentally throttles himself for such a clumsy move.

The thief that was left behind automatically grabs the scarf and unexpectedly sends electricity through the material. It was too fast for Eraserhead to let go of in time-

_'S-shit!'_

The pro's hands unwillingly seize around the weapon as his sight fades in and out. Sparks make themselves known at the corner of his eyes, and the buzzing in his ears only intensifies. Hair follicles, across his body, rapidly rise and fall as sporadic goosebumps dance across his arms and legs.

What felt like ages were only a few seconds, and thankfully so as the door to the roof suddenly swings open. A swarm of FBI cops enters. They instantly begin to surround the bodies and the enemy that had latched onto the scarf. Startled, the thief's hold on the weapon slips.

Once the current stopped, the erasure hero knelt like a wilting flower. He couldn't help but lose his own grip on the Capture Weapon—releasing the guy on the other end. The cops try to apprehend the criminal, but he jumps off the roof before they could catch him. The agents surrounding the building wouldn't be able to safely apprehend the suspect without shooting him down…

And that wasn't an option if they didn't have someone like Snipe on their team... They couldn't risk civilians' lives without a pro hero sniper...

"Shut down all buildings and block all streets within a two-kilometer radius around this facility," barked the FBI chief into his earpiece, "also, call in medics from the hero wing—we've got one injured." The chief watches the erasure hero try to collect his composure. He falters twice before standing up straight—or as straight as he could possibly stand. Not a step later from Eraserhead and a certain detective enters the scene.

"_Eraserhead_-" exclaimed Detective Tsuckauchi as he ran over to the slightly dazed, twitching man.

"It's fine. Which direction did he go off," Aizawa askes, cutting to the chase. He stands himself up straighter, blinks a couple of times, and then quickly weaves his way towards the ledge—or at least makes the effort to before he was blocked off by the chief.

"I've just called in the medics. Don't worry about the escapee, my men have it covered," the fifty-year-old chief said—Aizawa didn't move an inch. Still eyeing where the criminal once was.

"While you wait, I need you to explain what happened," said the chief—bringing the underground hero's attention back. Eraserhead's eyelids sink in synchrony with his frown.

"Sorry Eraser, it's protocol."

Detective Tsuckauchi's eyes widen slightly when Aizawa obliges fairly easily—he was expecting at least an argument. The pro wasn't the type to not see his missions through, so it was kind of odd when he simply handed the chief the burnt hard drive and started answering questions…

After giving a, somewhat curt, rundown of what happened—and the use of a couple of eye drops—the erasure hero sits down against the nearest wall. He watches the FBI cuff the baddies and the chief interrogate the criminal that had just electrocuted him.

Now that he was blessed with a small break, he pulls out his phone. By muscle memory, he unlocks it and swipes to an already opened messaging tap. Shouta re-reads the assuring text messages from Recovery Girl. He didn't know why he was still keeping an eye out on the bluenette's condition—it was 3:31 in the morning _for crying out__loud. _RG and Iida were, undoubtedly, sleeping right now...

The thought didn't stop his thumb from tabbing at Iida's messages.

"I thought your scarf was a non-conductive alloy."

Aizawa directs his gaze to Detective Tsuckauchi, who was standing next to him. The hero lowers his phone into his pocket. Eraser had heard him approaching—he just didn't acknowledge the detective until he actually spoke up. Tsuckauchi sat down aside him, and Aizawa's mind thought back to his own vigilante days. When Aizawa was younger, the detective—very new to his job at the time—had caught and lectured him twice about doing illegal hero work. That he shouldn't risk graduating high school over breaking such a basic law. Guess he could thank Detective Tsuckauchi for teaching him how to be more stealthy…

"The latest model is. But no, the alloy and carbon fiber in this scarf does conduct electricity. Just not as well as a pure metal would."

"Wait, why are you using an older version?"

The erasure hero faintly felt a vein throb, "the other one's being updated."

Tsuckauchi would've asked why he didn't own another pair of the same caliber, but—instead—he decides to say, "In other words, if it had been direct contact, he could have killed you with those amps."

Shouta's eyelids block his vision and he lays his head against the wall behind him. "...Probably."

"...Sheesh, these guys are getting more and more wicked by the day. You've got to be more careful now that you've got kids looking up to you," advised the detective as he glimpses at the suspect.

"..."

"I'm surprised the nitinol in your scarf didn't revert back to its original shape."

Shouta opens his eyes to a squint.

"Who said it was nitinol?"

_'Does he know Yaoyorozu?'_

"Well, I just assumed—with the way your scarf bends and all—that there was some nitinol in there. That you could control it with some sort of electrical source—nitinol's known for changing its shape if you add enough electrothermal heat," imparted the curious detective.

He'd always wondered how the man was able to control his scarf, but he never got an answer. That didn't deter him from coming up with possibilities though... At first, Tsuckauchi thought it was because he had some type of telekinetic-erasure hybrid quirk, but that had been debunked rather fast. If he had such good telekinetic control over his scarf then why would Aizawa purposefully cause his hair to go up? He'd be signaling the use of his quirks to his enemies…

Now that he knows that the scarf is conductive, the idea that Aizawa must have some sort of electricity in his quirk seemed more realistic. Tsuckauchi thought he'd share his presumptions to see if the hero would correct them.

"So is you quirk part electricity?"

The erasure hero's left eyebrow lowers by a hair while looking at the detective. This guessing game was starting to become a norm whenever they met up. He better not be reading into his life or something—he caught Tsuckauchi reading about Present Mic, and All Might once...

Guess the detective was secretly as curious as Midoriya when it came to quirk skills...

"No, it's not, and since when do you know so much about alloys?"

"I was studying Electrical Engineering in college before I switched over to Law Enforcement. Hated the program but I guess some of it came in handy," he chuckles.

The tiny conversation dies out after that and so did Tsuckauchi's hopes of finally understanding how the scarf worked. Well, at least he tried…

"Detective."

Both men sitting on the ground look up to the chief, who was walking towards them.

Typically the FBI wouldn't allow local officials to work on their cases, but the previous incidents prompted a necessary partnership with the police detective—after all, Tsuckauchi knew better than most about Tokyo's underground criminals. Aizawa was a bonus.

"You can interrogate him now," the FBI director nods to the criminal and then shifts his gaze to the hero.

"The thieves were wearing some type of advanced rubber polymer underneath their suits—probably as a precaution for their electroshock gloves."

"Explains why the one that escaped was able to react so quickly when we showed up," chipped in Tsuckauchi as he got up from the floor to head over to the captured suspect, "I'll talk to you later Aizawa," he waves at the younger adult who lazily raises a hand back. Eraserhead and the chief watch him leave.

"...The medics are here, by the way," the chief points his thumb to the door, "their coming up the stairs as we speak."

Eraserhead nods and stands up as well—careful not to jostle the quills in his left shoulder.

0~ 0~0 ~0

The paramedics did their job in less than forty minutes—they wanted to make sure that there weren't any remaining chips in his shoulder. After healing up his wounds, burns, and internal injuries—in the best way they could, with what little energy he had—they gave him the okay to leave.

Luckily the shock hadn't left any scars or damaged tissue in his eyes—they told him that the current went from his arms to his grounded feet and had missed his heart and brain. The medics assured him that the nerves in his limbs would fully heal within the week, but that he should expect possible weakness in his muscles until then. His vision, on the other hand, was still a bit blurry. They said it was due to the quirk-healing combined with a minor concussion and fatigue—which they all knew he obviously had. Dark circles don't lie…

They highly recommended that he should get some shut-eye, and wait for the concussion to pass but—of course—that wasn't going to happen. Or at least he thought it wasn't when he went to talk to Tsuckuachi about the interrogation. They had planned to do it toni- this morning… He walks over to said detective.

"When exactly are we going to the precinct?" The detective nearly jumps out of his stance at the sound of Aizawa's voice behind him.

"Geez, Aizawa! Don't do that," blurted Tsuckauchi as took a hold of the folder he nearly threw like confetti. Tsuckaushi turns around—he had been minding his own business watching all nine suspects enter a police copter. Shouta merely stares at him with a blank face—waiting for him to take in the question.

"S-sorry, but I'm sending you home for the rest of the morning," the detective stops himself from rubbing his neck.

"...What would be the sense in sending me home if my patrol ends in two hours? Don't you need my help in an interrogation," Eraser asks while keenly looking for any underlying reasons in the detective's answer. Ready to tell his acquaintance off.

"Well, I know you sleep half the time we interrogate—and somehow still do a great job probing for information—but you were just injured and electrocuted," Naomasa first reassures before tucking his folder under his arm. "I really think you should take it easy. Maybe get more than just two hours of undisruptive rest? …Plus, I've already called the Pro Hero Association to let them know you were injured…" Tsuckauchi internally cringes at his friend's possible reaction, but he knows he made the right move. Aizawa could be a hypocrite when it came to self-preservation…

For a hot minute, Tsuckauchi thought Aizawa would bring up the fact that he was already healed—that Tsuckauchi was being overdramatic—but the underground hero closes his jaw. He blinks twice, makes a 180, and proceeds to drag himself towards the roof's exit.

"Wha- where are you going?"

"To get some rest," he replies with a tired hand in the air.

_'Could've at least nodded,'_the detective thought with his eyebrows furrowed and a slight smile tugging his lips. _'No wonder All Might can barely get along with him...'_

0~ 0~0 ~0

Aizawa decides to take the elevator instead of the stairs because the stairs were crowded with FBI agents. He didn't want to deal with that right now… especially with the dull pain in his shoulder and the un-admitted limpness in his legs... Plus it didn't matter which way he went, forty-eight floors would take forever to get up and down from. At least the elevator would be quiet…

FBI agents took it upon themselves to use the stairs for extra training apparently...

He pushes the respective button and leans against the wall.

Ding, 47.

He blinks…

Ding, 46.

Ding, 45.

Ding, 44.

Shuffles…

Ding, 43.

Falls into a trance…

Ding, 40.

Ding, 36.

And finally dozes off.

Only to be awoken by a yank from his scarf. He had fallen onto the floor and his Capture Weapon had chosen to be friends with the elevator door. Apparently, they went further and eloped because now Aizawa couldn't get his weapon out of the said door. He carefully gets himself off the ground.

_'Wonderful,'_the erasure hero simmers in agitation as he tugs on his scarf. He didn't want to close the door and risk having his weapon eaten, nor did want to resort to cutting it-

"HEY! ERASER!"

-but if it meant getting away from that…

"AIZAAAWAAA!"

He would not. _Hesitate_.

Aizawa brings his knife out and slices the scarf—not caring for the large chunk he'd leave behind. The door can have at it!

He pretends he hadn't heard his name and maneuvers himself around the lobby so that she couldn't see him behind all the FBI agents.

For a split moment, Eraserhead didn't know where his stalker was, or why the heck she was even up this early in the morning. He didn't want to do it, but he carefully peeks over the confused agents and finds her dark-green eyes staring right back at him.

_'SHIT,'_he mentally punches himself as he holds back a laugh and ducks. He scans for another exit besides the front.

"HEY, I SAW THAT!"

If he was going to make a move he needed to do it now! A lightbulb went off in his head when his eyes locked onto the men's restroom a few feet ahead of him. As if he was in a shooting game, he crouch-runs into the bathroom and sighs in relief when he finds a small window ajar. He was sure that it had a security screen that would go off if removed but, luckily for him, the system was currently down—the agents were still investigating the building and didn't want to trip the alarm during their search.

He skillfully jumps and balances himself upon the stall near the high-up window, and then pulls out his knife from earlier. He's legs almost give out, but he catches himself with the tiled wall.

With expert stealth learned through years of underground missions, Aizawa quietly removes the screen in one motion—even with the slight weakness in his limbs and the concussion. He doesn't make a sound as he swiftly climbs out, places the screen back, and lands in a large alleyway. A small wave of fatigue hits him and he shakes his head a bit before continuing his escape.

_'Now, to get-'_

"You know, you don't just leave a girl hanging like that, Shouta!"

Aizawa—for the second time this year—freezes and creaks his head towards Ms. Joke. With a twinkle in her eyes, she smiles back at his glowering face.

"...I thought you were a daytime hero."

"Well, I just happened to be stargazing with some friends-"

"At this time?"

"-Yerp! And one of them received a call for assistance! You must be real tired if you let one of the thieves escape, huh? Anyways, I came along, but I didn't expect to see you here! …Whoa, that's some déjà vu right there—could've sworn I said that last time…"

"..." Aizawa shoves his hands into his pockets—easily hiding the fact that he felt a tad bit of bile rising up from his throat. Though, he couldn't hide squinting from a sudden bright car light that was pointing into the alleyway.

"Also, I know you can fall out of a window like that but the best way to fall… is in love with me," she explodes with laughter as his scowl deepens. The car finally turns.

"OH, OH! If I could rearrange the alphabet I'd put 'U' and 'I' together—we should date," she jumps-the-gun on him with a snort and his head sinks further into his scarf—his dark circles contrasting with the white-grey material a little too much.

"So, where were you heading off to?"

"Home."

"OOooo," Emi wiggles her eyes, "why not invite me ove-"

"No," he abruptly cuts her off and he starts his journey home—hoping she wouldn't follow.

But she does.

"Why nooot?"

"..."

"We haven't actually hung out since the Spring Role Fiasco!"

Aizawa hid the sudden shudder that went down his spine—he wouldn't admit it, but the _Spring Role Fiasco_had given him such a complex that he'd never eat another spring role again…

"That was a pretty bad incident… but at least I got to learn that you l-"

Eraser makes a sharp turn to his left to go down another alleyway. Ms. Joke rushes to catch up with him—a pout on her face for having been cut off so abruptly.

"Aww, come on, Eraser! Let's hang out at my place! I have feelings—opps… did I say feelings? I meant sandwiches! I have sandwiches for you, and I promise they don't hav-"

"Shut it," he sternly demands, and he was actually surprised when silence followed afterward. This made him glance at the green-haired heroine, who was now smiling with closed lips. A tiny huff escapes him as he stops to half-face her.

"Look, Joke. I have a long day today-"

"It's alright, I understand," she held her smile and rose a thumbs-up, "I'd probably keep you up—getting lost in your dark eyes. But I also get lost in most department stores, so I wouldn't read too much into it."

"..."

They awkwardly stand there—listening to the hustling of the agents nearby before Emi speaks up.

"I gotta help with the search… I'll see you around, Eraser," she quickly waves her goodbye and heads off in the direction they came from—leaving him standing alone in the ally. Wondering what the hell just happened…

0~ 0~0 ~0

4:30 am

That's the time when Aizawa arrived at his students' dimly lit dormitory.

Earlier, he had planned to sleep in the dorm across Adyama's room, but now he was way too tired to climb up the stairs. Yet, he really felt like sleeping on something soft for once, so he throws himself onto the nearest couch—sleeping bag be damned for now.

Aizawa was out like a light before he even made contact with the sofa…

* * *

[If you guys ever draw any of these scenes, send me a link—in the reviews—so I can see/put the link here in the fic!]  
(Have an idea for this story? Send it in the reviews and I'll consider)!


	3. Timing

**Chapter 2**

Timing

* * *

"... neta… kill… yo…"

"..."

"...oh…eful don… up… beans…"

'-the hell,' subconsciously wondered the sleeping teacher.

"Calm do… inari… besides, your promise to… of an opportunity to mi-" the sentence was cut short when Aizawa's dry eyes crack open. He was met with three of his students—one holding a camera, another trying his best to hold back the third, and the third about to doodle on Aizawa's face with a sharpie.

'Kill I will...'

Mina and Mineta were instantly mummified before Mineta's sharpie even landed a dot on his face. Mina drops her camera.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"So…which of you had the audacity to come up with this idea," he calmly and eerily speaks from his laying position on the sofa. He was trying to quell down the small nausea he felt before moving. However, if was getting hard to stay put when all Aizawa saw was red, and it wasn't just because his quirk was activated. He was almost mind blown that his students were dumb enough to attempt something like this…

"K-Kaminari," both Mina and Mineta, somehow, stuttered in unison. He barely heard them through the scarf, but he heard them alright. His crimson—bloodshot—eyes lock onto the electric user who, at this point, might be peeing his pants.

"I-I didn't think Mineta'd take the dare seriously! It was just a joke!"

"H-HEY, you know I'd do anything for a peek at Yaoyorozu's boobs-" squirmed the trapped youth to his friend.

"**EW**, is **that** why you were doing this," Mina disgustedly exclaims in disbelief.

"I didn't actually have a photo, Mineta!"

"And **now** you tell me this?!"

Before the purple teen could say anything else, the scarf tightens around the squirt. All three fell silent as they watch their teacher carefully sit up—a manic-look being held back. He slowly turns to the clock on the wall, and their hearts sink.

It read 6:04 am.

About an hour before his alarm would go off.

And about two and a half before the field trip starts…

The iris' in his eyes nearly melt into his scleras before his face suddenly darkens. His hair flows back down and his eyes fall shut—the vice-like grip on the Capture Weapon wavering only once, but the three students didn't notice.

"...The next time…" he mutters, "either one of you three. Decides to draw on my face..." he gradually strengthens his grip.

"Let alone wake me up. This. **Early**…" the three gulp, "you will write me a five-page essay on hero etiquettes, understand?"

"Y-yes, M-Mr. Aizawa," they all quaver together. He scans their young faces for a few seconds to make sure what he said was clear and then retracts his weapon. Without saying anything else, their teacher crashes back down into the couch—slink body facing inward. The kids stand there—shooked and beyond bewildered. They didn't know what to do.

"Get some rest," he loudly muffled into a pillow. He then hears them scurry to their dorms as he sinks his head further into the sofa…

0~ 0~0 ~0

The alarm on his phone brings him back to life. Aizawa didn't know when he had drifted back to sleep—or why there was a blanket thrown on top of him—but he knew that his small nap time was over. He felt like he didn't even get a wink…

The night hero groggily gets off from the couch, takes the blanket and folds it. It was probably a gesture of apology from one of the three students that woke him up earlier. Aw hell… if it was Mineta's…

Not letting himself think any further, he places it on the nearby table and reorganizes the couch-pillows. Aizawa realizes that the pillows he slept on lightly smelt like ashes. He takes a look at his outfit.

'I'll need to throw these clothes out…' he mentally noted as he rubs the bottom of his charred jacket. He didn't care how it looked, but they were starting to feel uncomfortable...

'Hopefully, my boots are still salvageable,' he thought while taking out his eye drops. His eyes were still pretty dry from using his quirk an hour ago, and he still felt kind of dizzy—sleep somehow had failed him.

After that, Aizawa trudges his way to where he left his belongings…

He would've gone straight for the coffee machine, but UA didn't allow their students to have coffee due to the effects it had on minors. With a sigh, he reaches the second floor.

'After this, I'll check up on Iida-'

"Good morning, Mr. Aizawa," the Problem Child yawns as his teacher passes him. Aizawa briefly looks at him in recognition and then keeps walking—Midoriya was going to the kitchen for breakfast but did a double-take. He watches his teacher go into one of the empty dorms.

'Wait, why was he sleeping here,' the kid's nose suddenly felt tickled and he sniffs, 'and why does Mr. Aizawa smell like burnt toast?'

'He's like a burnt marshmallow.'

Midoriya didn't know why Mina's words were echoing in his head, but he couldn't get the idea of a half-burnt marshmallow—with a stick up its bottom—rescuing people from a fire… He shook his head.

'Patroling must've gone bad last night…' he refocused his train of thoughts, 'he looked a little off…'

Midoriya decides to, at least, ask him about it later—he doubts that his teacher would tell him the details, but he might get a reason for why he seemed more tired than usual. Placing that on his to-do-list, Izuku heads off to the kitchen for a drink. He finds his froggy friend there.

'Oh, right. It's her turn today…'

It was Asui's turn to lead the preparation for breakfast and Deku takes it upon himself to help her get started early—seeing as he was already prepped for the trip. He finds her cracking some eggs into a bowl of flour, sugar, and butter…

"Good morning, Tsu," Midoriya greets as he gets himself a cup of water.

"Oh, good morning, Mirdoriya. Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah… but I fell off my bed twice," chuckled the freckled teen. He sips his water, grabs the eggshells, and dumps them in the trash.

"Ouch, why not get a railing for your bed then," inquires the frog-human. She gives him a tacit thank you as she pours milk into the mix.

"... I already have one—I got it a week ago," Deku rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Ribbit. So, you climb in your sleep," she questions while she stirs the batter with a whisk.

"Y-yeah, well, no. I haven't done it since I was ten, and it just started a few days ago," he blushes as he places his empty cup in the sink.

"You know, I had the same problem—except I'd wake up on the ceiling or the wall."

"Wha-really? You didn't fall did you?"

"Fortunately, no. But my parents were scared, so I ended up having to tie my wrist to the railing each night," she says as she takes the whisk out of the batter and rinses it in the sink.

"O-oh."

"But it worked—a few weeks later and I didn't need it anymore, and I haven't had an issue since," she takes out four pans, "don't know if it'll work for you, or if you'd be comfortable doing that-"

"No, no. I think it's a good idea—there really isn't anything else I could think of that'd keep me from waking up on the floor."

'Other than throwing myself into a wooden trunk or something…'

"Anyways, what do you have planned for me to do," All Might's successor asks.

"If you don't mind, can you cut up some strawberries and cantaloupes? I think they're in the bottom drawer of the fridge."

"Sure thing, Tsu!"

Midoyria collects the fruits and begins to chop them into decent sizes. He was five minutes into his slicing and rinsing when some of his classmates enter the kitchen. Looking for something to do, each of them turn towards the frog-human for instructions. As always, there were a few suggestions—from Sato—on what ingredients they should add. They'd often hear him out as he was basically a walking, talking cookbook.

It took them all but fifteen-ish minutes to serve up breakfast. No one complained about today's choice for it was crêpes—with the option of topped fruits, whipped cream, and maple syrup. There were scrambled eggs on the side for protein as well. Most of the students ate at the dining tables—only Bakugo, Kaminari, and Kirishima sat on the couches to watch TV. Neither one of them caring for proper manners, and no one in their class was willing to correct them. It'd only start another senseless fight anyways…

"-Hey! Turn up the volume, will you?! Noone's sleeping at this hour," the hot-head of the group bristles. Kirishima smirks in slight confusion as to why his friend's temper suddenly flared up, while Kaminari dumbly grabs the remote—turning the TV up. Maybe the chattering of the other students was pissing him off? They weren't that loud though...

Behind the small squad, Sero and Mineta were flinging breakfast at one another in some childish attempt to see who could catch the most food in their mouths. Even though he already misbehaved this morning, Mineta could care less about being cautious right now.

Not when Sero placed down 1,700 yen and told Mineta he'd lose. Mineta wasn't one for money, but he could buy… things with those yen.

"Bet you can't catch this one, Sero," called the purple one as he flung a cantaloup slice towards him. Sero caught it with ease.

"T'at's seven ta 'ive," the tape hero chewed down the fruit, "good luck catching up!"

Using a fork, Sero picks a portion of his whip-covered crêpe and slings it towards Mineta. The tiny teen lunges for the airborne food, trips on his shoelace—which he didn't know was untied—and completely misses the hunk. Instead, with a resounding splat, the chunk lands on Bakugo's hair and slides down his neck…

And the entire room fell quiet when Class 1-A's resident volcano exploded…

The ruckus that their teacher and class-rep enter upon sealed Aizawa's belief that this was going to be a very, very trying day.

Most of the breakfast was forgotten at their tables as the fifteen and sixteen-year-olds were witnessing Sero's possible final moments. The raging light-blonde teen—barely being held back by four of his peers—foamed at the mouth while his food was crushes in his hands. Bakugo was struggling to get out of his friends' constraining arms in an effort to jam his own crêpe into his cowering prey's face. Sero was shouting out his apologizes, that it was an accident, all while hiding behind Sato—who couldn't help but take a few steps back himself. The Problem Child was trying to reason with his long-time classmate, but Bakugo—of course—wasn't having it.

Jiro was watching all of this from her table seat—rolling her eyes and still eating—when she notices their teacher. He was tightly holding onto one of the straps of his backpack while carrying the speedster's bag…

"Uhh… guys..." warned the girl with the innate earphones. Noone needed to hear her to notice the looming black and white figure approaching—a very woozy Iida trailing behind. Aizawa's hair rose on end for a quick second before falling back—which was all that was needed for the angry Bakugo to stop his mini rampage. The erasure hero leads his sick student towards the exit.

"You all better be ready within the hour," he admonished to his students before he leaves through the front doors. Taking Iida, and his packed stuff, to stay under the care of Recovery Girl...

0~ 0~0 ~0

Aizawa came back to their dormitory at 8:13 am—a cup of steaming black coffee in his hand. Hizashi had once told him that drinking coffee with a concussion wasn't recommended—but how else would he survive today? He wasn't about to call out sick on them either—they needed this trip.

Appeased to find them all ready, he leads them to their designated VIP bus—where Aizawa's loaded backpack was. By the time 8:30 came around, they were already on the bus counting heads.

Throughout the entire two hour drive to Tokyo, the underground hero tried to take a nap in his sleeping bag. Everyone respectfully kept their voices at a whisper—especially Mina, Mineta, and Kaminari. Deku, on the other hand, hardly contained himself.

Today they were visiting the nation's largest heroics museum, Japan's Museum of Peace. It didn't take much brainpower to know that the site was named after the Symbol of Peace himself, All Might. Sure, the museum's name referred to all heroes in general, but no one was fooled—which meant that Midoriya's classmates had to purposefully distance themselves from the fanboy.

It didn't matter, though—they could hear his audible mumbling even with his face shoved in his notebook. The only one who couldn't hear him was Aizawa. Their homeroom teacher knew this would happen and had brought earplugs for his sleep during the ride… He was actually able to catch a few Zs before they got there.

However, his sleep was cut off when the wheels of the bus came to an abrupt halt. Aizawa rolls off the two seats he was laying on and whams against the ones across him—an earplug, of his, falling out.

"WE'RE HERE! WE'RE FINALLY AT THE WORLDS' LARGEST MUSEUM OF HEROICS," practically squealed the freckled teen who's saucer-like eyes sparkled. Everyone on the bus nearly had a heart attack from his overly enthusiastic shout—some of them were still frozen in their seats.

Uraraka was the only one who saw his outburst coming—she amusedly smiles at him from across the aisle. The gravity girl was about to say something to him but a certain hot-tempered teen from the back of the bus blew up.

"THANKS, CAPTAIN OBVIOUS! NOW **SHUT THE HELL UP**," bellowed Bakugo as he clutches and starts to scorch the two seats in front of him.

"Hey! Don't act like your not excited, Kacchan! We're visiting the first heroics museum ever bui-"

"AS IF I DON'T **KNOW**! YOUR WEIRD INNER DIALOGUE IS DESTROYING THIS TRIP," the explosive teen shouts.

'Why is he still acting like this...' thought All Might's successor. He and Kacchan had found common ground a several weeks back—when they fought at Ground Beta—but it looks like some old habits never died. Although, Deku knew there wasn't much hate behind his classmate's words—not like before—so he let his ensuing rebut slip off his tongue.

Kacchan was probably just irritated from the loudness—as almost anything noisy bothered him on a daily basis. And from the looks of it, the red-eyed teen didn't look like he was getting enough sleep... Deku wasn't going to add fuel to the fire, and even if Midoriya said anything back, their teacher would've cut him off.

"-Bakugo," Aizawa calls out as he climbs out of his sleeping bag and squints at the kid. Said kid drops his hands from the singed seats and crosses his arms. Even if the school ends up paying for the two seats, the blondie already knew he's parents would get a visit from the haggard pro hero. This didn't stop him from keeping eye-contact with Deku, though.

"Another mishap and I'll send you back," he watches Bakugo huff and cast a glare at him. The teacher frowns and then sweeps his vision upon the other students, "that also goes for anyone who chooses to misbehave in there," and he's eyes land on Midoriya—who sat behind where Aizawa slept.

"So no shouting..."

With that, their homeroom teacher lugs himself towards the bus entrance, "leave your luggage here, and don't make me come looking for you when we leave."

The students watch as the pro hero nods his thank you to the bus driver, exits, and walks over to the ticket booths located just outside the museum's gates.

Noone said anything if they caught the sudden, but minor, falter of his right leg…

0~ 0~0 ~0

To Aizawa, it was a big relief that his students were acting like young adults—even Mineta withheld himself from touching some of the female statues.

Midoryia was automatically glued to the texts, statues, and photos of his favorite idol—no surprise there. The kid literally spent forty minutes reading about Toshinori's fights before Uraraka came along and pulled him out of it.

And it wasn't an easy feat either, she even had to pry his hands from a nearby column to get him to move.

'There's no doubt that that kid'll pick All Might for his presentation…' Eraserhead thought as he supervises them all.

The raven-haired man had visited the museum multiple times before—when he himself was a high schooler at UA, his history teacher had been relentless with their assignments—so there really wasn't anything new for him to look at. Even if there was, he'd probably already heard about it through the cops or staff members…

So, as he waited for the two hours to go by—a headache forming as he couldn't help but wistfully think about sleeping on one of the displays. That fake, fluffy snowbank in the corner was looking way too welcoming…

Shouta forcefully walks away from it.

The only other thing that bothered Class 1-A's teacher—aside from that comforting temptation—was the sudden crowding of some of his students. To his mind, this meant something was up. The majority of them were murmuring amongst themselves and were actually paying attention to the mumbling Problem Child, who was standing next to whatever they were looking at. And what they were looking at made Aizawa blink.

'When did this…'

There hung a picture of a dark silhouette crouching right on the edge of a building—signature scarf and hair flowing as he prepared himself to leap. Some of his weapon had been covering his face in that shot, but you could still see the gold from his goggles peeking through. The lights from the city behind him—and the moonlight—made it even harder to see his face, and he was grateful for that. People barely knew about him or his heroic acts—after all he didn't care for fame and didn't want the attention. So, to see this here…

Aizawa's eyebrow rises when he, involuntarily, eavesdrops on the whispered conversations of his students.

"It says here that, at the beginning years of his career, Mr. Aizawa was thought to be a myth-slash-legend-" Midoriya mumbled loud enough for the others to hear.

"That's so cool!"

"Yooo, look at how many gang members he stopped-"

"Did you read Teach's mini-biography? It looks recent too—our class is mentioned in it!"

God, he really hoped none of them would choose him… or turn around and see his embarrassment...

"Excuse me, sir, can I have the time? I'd check my phone, but I can't take my eyes off you," a familiar whisper-of-a-voice reeled him from his running thoughts. Aizawa internally cringes at his misfortune—this could not have been another coincidence.

But it was.

Emi was standing right next to him—a bright, jocose smile on her face.

'I can't even find peace in here of all places…' tiresomely thought the male pro.

"It's fifteen past eleven," he answer as he ignores her teasing, "why are you here, Joke," and sighs as he meanders away from the students. They didn't notice the mini commotion.

"Because fate keeps bringing us together," she blushes, closing her eyes, and puckering her lips towards him. He blinks and leans back a little—thankful that his more gossipy students weren't looking.

"Come on, Eraser! Let me borrow a kiss! I promise I'll give it back—let's get hitched-"

"No," he says as he hunches over a bit.

"But seriously, I'm just as floored as you are! ...Then again, the museum's school-discount for today was too good to pass up on," she contemplates with a finger on her lips. True to her implied reasoning, her own students were wandering around the corridors. Some of them filtering into the room where the two were standing. And, now that he thought about it, there weren't many adults around—just an old lady and a few security guards...

'This world is **unbelievably** tiny-'

"Either that or we're actually subatomic particles—our attraction force is quite strong," she geekily snorts and he stops himself from having an internal aneurysm.

It was an extremely. Trying. **Day**…

'She likes jokes? Fine.'

"You know, that little feeling you get... when you like someone," the raven-haired man abruptly pipes up. Ms. Joke stares at him dumbly—not knowing where he was going with this…

"-That's your common sense leaving your body," Aizawa grumbles behind his scarf while boring into her eyes.

And, somehow, everything went quiet.

Ms. Joke gawked at him—nothing came out of her mouth for a while, and it actually made Shouta shift his weight on his legs. Even her hair was stock still... He considered waving a hand in front of her face but ultimately decided against it—better to leave her there instead. Before he was even able to change his line of sight, however, she sprays his entire mug…

"BWA**A, HAAA, HA, HA**-"

The sound of her booming laughs sent piercing pulses within his head and he tries to gain his bearings.

She, herself, tries to catch her breath once, twice—while choppily calling out his name—but utterly fails when she makes eye contact with him. She coils back into herself—holding her stomach, and her persisting fit of laughter draws in the attention of the surrounding people.

'...It wasn't that funny,' irritatedly thought Shouta as he wipes his face for the second time today. His spit-covered hand grabs the front of his scarf to help tuck half his face from view—the dull ache in his shoulder making itself known.

"O-HA, HA-OH MY-" she struggles to cover her mouth, "OH MY **GOD**! HA, HA-AIZA-AIZAWAH-HA-"

His torment didn't seem like it would end, but finally, she slowly calms down—small chortles still coming out of her like aftershocks. Shouta lets go of his Capture Weapon.

"...It really wasn't that funny," he says under his breath.

"No, b-heh-but the fact that it c-came out of y-your m-**mouth**?! **Pfft**," she desperately tries to reason, "I-I didn't know you could even j-joke."

The queen of jokes cleans tears out of her eyes—chuckles still threatening their return when she looks at the confused expressions of the onlookers. Aizawa follows her gaze.

'Greeat…'

Class 1-A's teacher orientates himself to his group of amused students, "I hope you all have enough information for your slideshows. If not then you shouldn't be wasting your time."

The majority of them held back their sheepish smiles—some could care less while others, like Mina and her gossipy squad, fell into a shameless small-talk about his love life. Eventually, they all went back to their own business.

Yeah, they could search up their chosen heroes, but the assignment was due in two days. Gathering key information from the museum would be a whole lot easier than accessing thousands of websites online—plus, nowadays, fake news was everywhere. And, for once, Aizawa was grateful for that...

Sighing, he pulls out his phone to check the time.

'Just less than an hour left,' he told himself. He swiftly read the latest message from Recovery Girl and puts his phone away. Unwillingly, Shouta turns back to Emi.

"Well, Eraser, after a laugh like that, I think I need to use the bathroom," Emi snorted again while fanning herself. He was not amused.

Ms. Joke looks towards his group of children and roughly lands a hand on his shoudler—not noticing how the erasure hero bristles upon the contact.

"By the way, it's still adorable that your students admire you," she gleefully took her hand and pointed at the small crowd that still stood near his photo. His eggy eyes cut to the group of teens. Fortunately for him, some of them were now heading to other sections of the room.

"..."

Aizawa didn't notice Emi's soft smile when she caught the gentle, but fleeting, gaze he gave to his students.

"Alrighty," she brought his attention back—the softness in his face leaving. "I'll be right back—so don't you dare move from there," she throws finger-guns at him and starts sauntering to the museum's lobby. Shouta was about to huff out a response, but—out of the corner of his eye—a reflection of a metallic weapon winked at him.

'Wha-'

The wielder of the weapon—the old lady from earlier—was aiming it at Emi.

She pulls the trigger...

**"GET DOWN!"**

...echoes throughout the room as a beam of energy travels through the air.

The unaware security guards, startled children, and the unexpecting heroine were a shy too slow to react to Shouta's shout. The minute he had seen the weapon, Shouta had already drove his muscles to prepare himself to lunge towards Emi—his scarf already flowing from his hands. She was only twelve feet away from him. He'd be fast enough to get both her and himself out of harm's way—to shield them both with his scarf.

...Which is what would've happened…

Had his limbs not given out at that very moment.

* * *

[If you guys ever draw any of these scenes, send me a link—in the reviews—so I can see/put the link here in the fic!]  
(Have an idea for this story? Send it in the reviews and I'll consider)!


	4. Erased

**Chapter 3**

Erased

* * *

**(Author's Note):**

Next chapter will be up before Jan 15th!

Let me know if there's anything confusing, or something that doesn't make sense in the story. Call me out on it in the reviews please-I don't accept messages.

(It'd really help everyone, who's reading, and me if it's fixed. Thank you!)

* * *

White.

A blinding white sensation was all he felt.

But he had done it.

He had pushed her into safety.

Out of harm's way...

Away from the black abyss…

**"SHOUTA!"**

That his mind fell into…

0~ 0~0 ~0

The old lady's wails followed after Emi's loud cry. Security guards restrained the elder woman on the ground—taking her weapon away. Her wilting white flower flung out of her hair as she kicks and screams against their heavy arms—the old lady's face against the vinyl tiles.

The students watch in horror as Emi scrambles to the downed teacher. In a quiet daze, she quickly flips him over on his back and searches for any sign of life in his features. Anything that would stop her mind from playing tricks on her...

The windows to his soul were shut. The paleness in his cheeks gone and replaced with a flush red.

He was still alive—but this didn't quell her panic as she now realized he was foaming at the mouth. Immediately, she puts him on his side and blocks the view of his contorting face from the students. Emi desperately wanted to hold him down but knew the potential risks of further injuring him if she did. Instead, she tries to reach for the phone in her pocket, but the trembling in her hands wouldn't let her. The pro heroine briefly freezes-

"S-SOMEONE CALL 911," Emi yells as she darts her doe-green-eyes around the room—like a deer caught in headlights.

Her and his students broke out of their shock—one of her's tries to call the emergency number, but a security guard beats the kid to it and radios for an ambulance. Incoherent words from the elder lady fall onto deaf ears as they all restlessly watch their teachers from afar. Security guards begin to haul the cuffed elder women out of the place—all while Ms. Joke tries to get her self-control back, but her eyes shoot back to Shouta when his silent movements still.

And if a pin dropped, they all would've noticed…

Emi doesn't know how long her eyes had stayed glued to his motionless body. All the memories of fighting alongside him, teasing him to no end, the rare conversations they shared… the care he tried to hid for the people around him… For her…

Her mind went blank.

But, somehow, she saw her hand move on its own. It landed both of its fingers on his cherry-colored neck.

Nothing…

"..."

Everything around her spiraled into a tunnel…

Morphed into a place she didn't recognize.

And she nearly faints when she feels a pulse.

The unsteady breath that escapes her lips sends a wave of relief to the students around her—the teenagers' own sighs bringing her back to reality. Back into the awareness of the students' stress…

They shouldn't be seeing this…

"...Everyone, go to the cafeteria, please," her small voice wavers. A few of the students—Midoriya and some of his classmates—were about to protest. Although they all wanted to help, the majority of the students shook their heads in Midoriya's direction. What else could they do? The threat had had already been dealt with and medical matters weren't their forté—the least they can do is give them space and be alert for any more assailants.

Midoriya and the others drop their attempts—helplessness exuding from their sinking frames. It takes both classes a while before they reluctantly head out of the room—worrying eyes peeking back over their shoulders. Eraser's group of teenagers didn't move—their shoes somehow glued to the floor until Emi's weak smile encouraged them that everything would be alright. Tokoyami was the first to exit—due to having to keep Dark Shadow in check—and the majority of the others followed. The security guards took it upon themselves to watch over the youngsters—it was the least they could do for messing up their job. Ms. Joke nods at them in appreciation.

"..."

"-Is… he'll be really alright, right," piped up Hagakure. She and a tiny portion of Class 1-A were standing behind Ms. Joke—the rest of the teens were already gone.

"...Yes," the green-haired heroine tries to assure them. Emi didn't want to make them feel as anxious as she, herself, did—it'd only make things worse. The green-haired heroine looks down at her former partner-in-crime and only now realizes that his Capture Weapon was splayed across the tiles. She takes it upon herself to make sure that no one trips or tugs at his scarf. Two of the remaining members of Class 1-A help her.

"-This morning," Midoriya grabs their attention, "...I couldn't figure it out, but there was something off with Mr. Aizawa." The Problem Child watches as Todoroki jumbles the weapon near the erasure hero.

"Some of us saw him nearly trip on himself just before we entered the museum," Izuku glances at the unnatural peace in his homeroom teacher's face, but he takes his eyes off right after. "Whatever leg injury he got during patrol, it must've stopped him from dodging the beam in time…"

They all knew, for a fact, that Shouta could've easily evaded the elder woman's beam, so what Deku was saying had to be true.

_'… He looked a little out of it when I saw him earlier in the alleyway… It would explain why I saw paramedics during patrol too…'_Ms. Joke thought to herself as she brings her green orbs back to Shouta.

The students stood there for a while—not saying anything else—and Ms. Joke didn't have the heart to tell them to go. She knew that Shouta wouldn't like the idea of his students sticking around, keeping an eye on him, but after what they just witnessed. After seeing one of their homeroom teacher out cold for a second time…

She let them wait with her.

Wait with her in silence for the paramedics. And while they waited, their eyes would occasionally roam from the security guards to their Aizawa's form—to the burn on his back. No one dared to move him—for fear of causing more damage—so they weren't able to see half his face. Aizawa was still lying on his side… pressed against the tiles that held droplets of his blooded spit. He was breathing, but it was shallow. All they could do was watch as Emi wearily brushes charcoal strands of hair out of his closed eyes and to the back of his left ear.

Finally, the paramedics arrive in the lobby. From there, they spot the teens encompassing the two heroes and hustle to where the unconscious man lied. Knowing the rules, Emi, and the students automatically back off. The medical team pull out their equipment, swiftly check over their patient, and then slowly lay him flat on his back.

Two of the paramedics were at his arms while another two were at his head—obscuring Ms. Joke and the students' view of the man. As they stare at what they could from a distance, the fifth medic approaches them and takes out a clipboard—on it was a document filled with checkboxes, questions, and note sections. Bringing out a pen, the orange-haired medic directs her attention to the usually cheerful heroine.

"Hello, my name's Riley," she points to her other four colleagues and introduces them before getting to the matter at hand.

"I'm assuming your Ms. Joke?"

Emi only nods, and the medic frowns in slight concern but continues nonetheless.

"I'm just going to ask a few questions if you don't mind," the medic tells Emi and the solemn jokester nods.

"One of the security guards informed us that he had a seizure, after getting shot at in the back—how long did the convulsions last?"

"… I don't recall."

"Around three minutes," Todoroki, who had been quiet the entire time, answered. The orange-haired medic marks a box while her colleagues finish checking Aizawa's pupils.

"Did he go unconscious before or during the seizure?"

"During…" imparted the hot and cold teen. At this point, Ms. Joke lets Shoto do all the talking. She wouldn't be much of help anyway—she hardly remembers when Shouta had passed out. The only thing Emi can think of was how he wouldn't respond to her—the memory of his pain-stricken face was still playing behind her eyes.

"And how long has he been out?"

"Twenty-five minutes I believe…"

Riley continues with her question and jots down all of Todoroki's answers. Ms. Joke and the students watch the other medics pull Aizawa's arm out, roll his sleeve up, and prepare for a blood sample. (Back in the old days, blood results took at least three hours to receive—now it takes less than ten minutes thanks to modern technology). They cringe at the flinch that ensued when they inserted the needle, but their cringing became overwhelming relief when one of Shouta's eyes cracks open.

"Shouta!"

"-Mr. Aizawa!"

The pro hero lets out a low, almost inaudible, groan and tries to shift his body to sit up—his eyebrows knit from the massive pain he woke up to. Still taking the blood sample, the medics waste no time in putting hands on his chest-

"You don't want to do that, sir. Lay back down-" they cautioned him.

Aizawa, who's ears scarcely even registered the command, slowly complies and gingerly flattens his back against the floor. He coughs out a bit of blood and then asks with a rough, somewhat slurred voice "...was 'he thief caught?"

The paramedics had no idea about the incident's details so they looked towards the witnesses—but it was of no help. The group of young heroes and Ms. Joke were looking at each other as well. Did the old lady steal something before shooting at Emi? No… they saw the guards pat her down, and they didn't find any stolen items…

Then it hit Ms. Joke... He must be thinking he was still on patrol—thinking about the thief he couldn't apprehend this morning. For him to wake up in pain and ask about the escapee...

_'So he really was injured this morning-'_the green-haired woman concludes.

"What thief, sir," asks one of the medics as he pulls the filled injection out of Aizawa's arm. If he had been more aware of what they were doing, Shouta would've been more squirmish—the medics wouldn't admit it, but they were grateful that he wasn't too conscious. They never personally meet Eraserhead, but he had such a notorious reputation as a patient that they've heard all kinds of stories about him. Even though their job was to learn how to calm, heal, and persuade a hero to sit—because most heroes usually don't—two of them were actually relieved to not deal with an adrenaline-fueled Eraserhead. As healers, however, they were still pretty concerned that no one knew about the _'thief'_ he was talking about.

The students themselves seemed like they were still at a loss—but it only lasted for a millisecond for the lightbulbs in their heads to go off.

"-Mr. Aizawa, we're at the _Museum of Peace_, remember," Midoriya chimes in. A puzzled expression flickers on Shouta's face—not knowing why Midoriya was with him on patrol. This prompts the erasure hero to hazily scan at what he could. He soaks in Midoriya's words…

_GET DOWN!_

Suddenly—with the last thing he said echoing in his head—Aizawa bolts to his side to try and sit up again-

"Was an'one hurt? Where's Joke," he quickly grunts out while peering at the people around him. His back was stinging like hell, and the paramedics were insisting that he lay back down—their words were lost on him.

"-We're all okay, Eraser—I'm right behind ya," Emi reassures the scarf-adorning hero. He twists his head over his aching shoulder, Capture Weapon pouring further onto the floor, and he ganders at the voice's owner—to make sure she wasn't lying. Sure enough, she—and a portion of his students—were unharmed. The medics decide to wait for him to at least calm down before trying to get him to lay down again.

"Where're the other students," he asked while scanning Midoriya, Todoroki, Hagakure and the rest for any fatal gun injuries.

"I sent them to the museum's cafe."

"Alone," he reproachingly questions her.

"Nope, they're safe and sound with the security guards."

If it had been the League of Villians attacking, he would've sprung right off the floor to check up on them—but, the old lady didn't seem like she was part of their group… Then again, she didn't seem the type to carry a gun now did she?

To the medic's displeasure, Eraser wipes his mouth while attempting to stand up.

"Mr. Aizawa I don't think-"

"Sir, please-"

"Teach-"

The students launch themselves to help push down their teacher, but they back off from the warning glare they receive from him. They knew he was extremely worn out, in pain, and probably still running on his worries—that he wouldn't stop until he was sure they were okay. Ms. Joke knew this as well, "Eraser, I'll check up on them! Just stay put."

The joke heroine waits for his reply, but Shouta ignores her offer—or at least he would have if it weren't for the wide-eyed, young faces... waiting for his response.

_'Is this the example you want to set for your students? For the Problem Child,_' his prefrontal cortex reminds him. They all relax as he cuts his eyes to the floor, and a beat goes by.

"...if there's anything wrong, come and get me."

"I will, but you should be worried about yourself, Shouta," Emi tells him. She then speedwalks to the cafe—Aizawa couldn't recognize what was in her voice, what that tone had been, but he was too sore to care right now…

With a hidden sigh, he watches her exit the room before bringing himself back to the floor—wincing a bit in the process. The medics, whom never heard of anything other than intimidation from the night hero, shook themselves and proceeded to remove their equipment from Aizawa. One of them—a brunette—speaks up.

"How are you feeling, sir?"

"...How one should feel after getting shot," he sasses a whispered answer. His students didn't know why the brunette medic fell into a poker face—they couldn't hear what their teacher said because of all the shuffling.

"...Alright, well, your vitals look fine—which means we can safely go ahead with the quirk-healing. As you know, we took a small sample of your blood—everything came back normal. You can rest assured that she didn't shoot you with anything," reported the brunette medic.

"...Thank you… what happened to the old woman?"

"They drove her to TPD's precinct—she's in custody," one of the remaining security guards pipes up.

"And how long was I out?"

"Roughly thirty minutes—depending on when you passed out during the seizure-" Riley replies.

_'Seizure?'_

"-now please, sir, stay still so my colleague can heal you."

0~ 0~0 ~0

After healing him up, they claim him to be okay—a lot more tired than he probably was, but okay. If it wasn't for the short nap he had taken on the bus, Aizawa didn't think he'd have been able to be healed. And if the seizure had lasted more than five minutes, which it hadn't, they wouldn't have let him go…

After cleaning himself off in the bathroom—in which he pretends it was normal for students to wait outside for teachers—he and Ms. Joke collect their students. They all follow the paramedics to the exit of the now-police-infested museum. The building would be under lockdown for the remainder of the day...

_'There goes Saturday's presentations…'_Aizawa suspires to himself, _'I'll have to move it to Monday so they can have time to research…'_

The erasure hero and his pupils wait outside near their parked VIP bus—they could mount the vehicle, but they couldn't leave until the detectives arrive and get their statements. Their teacher huffs as he keeps an eye on them. He took note of the few concerned glances that the students shot his way…

_'-detectives taking their sweet ass time, aren't they-'_

For once, he was caught off guard as someone pokes his left arm. Eraserhead's eyes cut to the non-self-proclaiming masochist of his class, Midoryia. The teen sheepishly smiles at him and snaps his hand back to his own sides.

"S-sorry—just wanted to make sure of something," the freckled boy stammered.

Aizawa gives the Problem Child a slightly puzzled look. He was about to ask what the heck he meant, but—once again—Emi appears and cuts him off-

"Hey, Eraser. You have a moment?" Eraserhead's confused look disappears and Deku gratefully sighs. Both of them put their focus on the joke hero.

_'Here we go…'_Shouta dreadfully thought.

"I just wanted to say, thank you for the save earlier," she goes on. The underground hero doesn't say anything as he waits for the inevitable one-liner, but it never comes. Instead, he finds her staring at a spot on his cheek, and he frowns. The small change in Shouta's expression reels her back into their conversation, but he was still somewhat bothered by that look. He'd been getting that look from some of his students too... Before he has a chance to ask, Ms. Joke continues.

"If it wasn't for my slow reaction you wouldn't have gotten hurt," she tells him as her gaze falls to the floor. Eraser didn't know how to respond—it was kind of weird for him to see her like this… in fact, he couldn't remember ever seeing her like this…

"Ms. Joke, I don't think even Kacchan would've been able to dodge it—and he has a pretty fast reaction time. No one but Mr. Aizawa saw the weapon," Deku points out.

"In other words, you shouldn't put the blame on yourself—as a hero, it was at my own risk to get you out of the way," Aizawa reiterates the kid's words, "so thanking me isn't necessary."

Emi stays silent, examining their faces for any falsehood in their words, but she doesn't find any. Instead, she finds interest in her wristband.

"I'm just glad no one got hurt and that you're okay," she voices out. Shouta feels his neck heat up a tad. "I don't think anyone would be the same if you were... gone. Every function without you would be void of love."

And there it was...

"It would _erase_all future possibilities we have together!"

That shit-eating grin of hers and her unbelievably awful punchlines.

She chortles and nearly splits her face in two at the sight of Aizawa's eyes flatlining—all concern leaving his soul. Her wide beaming smile practically blinds him, and he doesn't miss the tiny tittering that escapes the freckled teen—or from the other teenagers who were now watching them.

And, as if anything couldn't get any worse-

"HEh-HaHa-"

Aizawa unwillingly chuckles…

The students' brains short-circuit at the sound—to them, it didn't even look like it came out of his mouth.

But it did.

And before their pea-sized minds could even comprehend what they just saw, what they _heard_, his hair stands on end. His blazing-magma eyes once again burn into Emi's bright but squinting, teary optics. How the _hell_did he not see that coming?

"Score: 3, _Eraser_!"

"**Don't use your quirk on me!**"

"Awww~ but your laughs melt my heart, I don't understand why you _see__red_when I use it on you—let's get engaged-"

"**No.**"

_'Oh my gosh, this is precious! And who knew Aizawa had such a soft outburst,'_the most gossipy student of his, Mina, thought. The pink girl wasn't the only one who found this amusing—the majority of his students, now cured of their frozen states, found their teacher's interaction with Emi entertaining. Mina turns to her rock'n'roll loving friend.

"Hey Jiro, how much you wanna bet that those two'll end up with each other," Mina whispers to her friend in enthusiasm.

"Geez Mina, it's like you've got a fetish or something for other people's love lives-"

"And I know you like hearing it too, so how much are we talking?"

Jiro rolls her eyes—a small tug on her lips, "I bet nine-hundred yen that they won't."

"Deal."

Their teacher didn't hear the deal for he was still using his quirk on Emi—who was waiting for erasure to let up. However, the world seemed like it wanted to apologize to Aizawa—for all the crap it recently put him through—because at that moment the detectives finally show up. He blinks—deactivating his quirk when he was sure Emi wouldn't use her's—and takes out his eye-drops.

"I suggest you get back to your students—I'm sure they'll need help with their statements," he tells her with subtle irritation in his voice while he glances at the detectives.

"Yerp, already on it," Emi begins her cheerful stroll back to her class.

Aizawa proceeds to squeeze the droplets into his eyes as she was leaving. Then he puts the medicine away and wipes the tears, from earlier's small outburst, out of the corner of his eyes.

"Hopefully, fate'll bring us together again someday," she winks at him from afar—making a peace sign.

"Hopefully _not_," he grumps out while crossing his arms and looking down. A few twitches in his left eye were all too noticeable.

"Seriously though, Eraser…" Aizawa's head lifts up at her tone, "thank you for the save," Emi gives him a soft and sincere smile. His crossed arms tense up by a cinch.

"No problem."

0~ 0~0 ~0

**Finally!**

After such an incident—followed by all the statements they made and… ugh, the media—they _finally_arrive at their booked hotel. The hotel, _Epocha Inn_, was one of the most luxurious inns in all of Japan—it was basically a skyscraper that overlooked Tokyo. It had five large swimming pools—one of them on the roof—three gyms that had running tracks, an indoor arcade, a two floor infirmary, and six restaurants with some of the best cuisines to offer. The hotel was known for these features worldwide, but Aizawa couldn't care less for any of those. He just wanted a bed.

Or the floor.

So how and why did he manage to get himself, and his students, reserved here? Simple. A few months back—before he taught his current class—the erasure hero got called in for a rescue mission. It wasn't really his expertise… but when he heard that there weren't any available pro heroes, and that it was a five-year-old boy that had been kidnapped, he had sprung into action.

When he rescued the little guy, the boy wouldn't leave his side—so Aizawa had waited, for two days, at the precinct with him. His parents had been traveling when their child had been kidnapped, so he had only imagined how panicked they were.

It turned out that the kid's parents were the rich owners of the _Epocha Inn_franchise—cliché right? As a reward—one that they insisted he took—Eraserheasd was given free monthly bookings, a week each with any amount of guests, to any international _Epocha Inn_. He didn't see why he'd use it in the near future—or why they didn't limit the offer down to a few years rather than for _life_—so he had set it aside, untouched. Untouched until these teenagers came along, and—well—he just wanted to give them a reward for all their diligence… Of course, the teens have no idea how the school managed to get them in this hotel, and the faculty didn't know how Aizawa got those reservations—and they will _never_find out…

_'Hopefully…'_Aizawa thinks as he dismounts the bus.

Entering the lobby, his students prance around like toddlers—some of them even attempting to jump onto the couches, but they hold back on their rowdiness. They didn't want their exceptionally-exhausted teacher to get worked up again—not after what happened at the museum. Or this morning. With that in mind, some of them opt to peek through the slits of the hotel's lattice wall—watching their teacher approach the counter. Their fingers lacing in some of the wall's designs.

"I'm checking in for booking number 427," they hear the pro hero say to the receptionist—a somewhat muscular man with a bald head. The tiny hat didn't do well for his head…

"Name," the guy requests—one eyebrow rising. Aizawa didn't know why he needed the name if he had the number, or why the guy wasn't using his computer, but he was too tired to care—perhaps it was for precautionary reasons.

"Shouta Aizawa."

The receptionist looks at him up and down—taking in the worn-out, hobo look...

"As in, Eraserhead?"

Aizawa forcefully blinks and subconsciously notes that he's been doing that a lot lately.

"Aren't you a little… unkempt?"

The erasure hero could hear the small collective gasps from behind the lattice wall—if someone had said that to him on any other day, he would've just dismissed it. Right now, however, Aizawa was barely able to keep his eyes open and the guy was starting to hit the wrong buttons—with his patience wearing thin, Eraserhead shrugs a mumbled reply.

"...Enlighten me then—seeing how you're able to flawlessly maintain your hair—what type of shampoo do you use?"

The majority of the class nearly rip off the transparent wall as they incredulously lurch back. A resounding, OOOOHH, threatening to come out of their mouths—but they knew better than to further hype-up the situation. Aizawa cringes at his own stupidity—he needed sleep, _right-now sleep_. With hope, they wouldn't follow this fatigue-induced slip-up… The dude across him was also fully aware of the mass teenagers that were listening to them—the receptionist's face scrunches up.

"That's not what I meant-"

"And that's not what I'm here for—just check us in or I'll ask the manager to do it," Aizawa says as he gestures his hand towards the laptop. The muscular receptionist closes his jaw shut, and grumbles as he harshly types in the four-digit number on his computer. He clicks a few things, toses out a reservation book for Eraser to sign, and then walks over to the large enclosed frame of keys. He takes out two cards and firmly places them on the counter's surface.

"Suites are on the sixty-first floor," the guy essentially spits out while pointing a thumb at the elevator. The erasure hero pays no heed to the dude's tone of voice and grabs the cards—then he signals his class to follow. His students quietly lug their bags towards him. Along the way to the elevator, Kaminari sticks out his tongue at the receptionist—who squints at the electric user.

"Kaminari," the teacher calls out.

"Coming!"

0~ 0~0 ~0

**_'Hey sho, are you alright? I heard you got shot and had a seizure?'_**Aizawa read from his phone at a distance. He was eating a meal at a table, in the boy's suite, when the text popped up.

Sleep had somehow escaped him—as it always did when he didn't at least eat something. He had taken his homemade meal out from his bag—the one he'd been planning to eat at the museum's cafe—and had popped it into the microwave for three minutes. When he sat down he pulled out his phone—Aizawa always hated the feel of his phone bending while he sat—and it was only now that he realized his friend was texting him. With his left hand, he grabs the phone and swipes open the message.

**_'Let me guess, joke told you,'_**he jumps to his own question in un-amusement. Three dots hop up and down on the screen as Eraser takes a bite out of his Katsudon. His eyes narrow at the response he receives.

**_'Yeah but the accident was also on the nightly news, you didnt answer my question,'_**was his closest friend's reply. Aizawa wasn't surprised that they already aired the incident on the news—the media were like a pack of starving wolfs without All Might in the picture. Swallowing the pork and rice, Aizawa sends Hizashi an assuring text—or at least what he could muster up as _assuring_.

**_'Im fine, just tired.'_**

**_'Are you sure?'_**

"..."

_**' 'Zashi, Im okay.'**_

A minute passes—the erasure hero picks up another chunk of his dinner and was about to plop it into his mouth—but three dots appear for a split second, disappear, and then reappear again before Aizawa's phone buzzes.

_**'Youre not lying to me are you?'**_

Aizawa puts his chopsticks down—closing his empty mouth.

**_'No, the medics healed me up, said nothing was wrong. Now stop worrying,'_**he texts back in annoyance—Shouta was not looking forward to the possibility of chatting, through a call, with a friend right now. He just wanted to eat his food and go to bed…

"..."

But, even with that desire, Aizawa wouldn't let any of his friends fret—so he waits to see if he's childhood friend would send something back.

He does.

**_'I know your tired and about to sleep, so we'll continue this tomorrow. Just keep us in the loop in case anything else happens, okay?'_**

"..."

_'...that sentence doesn't bode well…'_

**_'I will, goodnight hizashi,'_**he messages back. Present Mic sends him a waving-hand emoji with the word _'goodnight'_next to it. Eraser notes that the text was one-worded—meaning Hizashi really wasn't happy with him.

"..."

That'll have to be for another time…

With the conversation over, Shouta makes a move to put the device down but then remembers the 'us' in Hizashi's text message.

_'I should text Nemuri…'_he tells himself—Katsudon completely abandoned.

He clicks out of Hizashi's text messages and was about to open Nemuri's, but—speak of the devil—his phone goes off with her face on it. His shoulders sink.

_'Well, there goes that…'_he thought as his thumb taps the green button.

"Hel-"

**"SHOUTA!"**

The underground hero tears the phone away from his ear.

**"Hizashi and I have been trying to reach you! We called like twenty times! Twenty, Shouta! Even some of the staff were calling you,"**she rapidly spills out, **"why didn't you pick up?!"**

_'Twenty,'_again, Aizawa internally cringes at his thoughtlessness—it was incredibly rare that he'd be careless like this, so he could only imagine how freaked out they were. And it only further explained why Present Mic had sent those last few 'angry' messages…

"I'm sorry, Nemuri. My phone was on silent mode… If it vibrated during the ride I wouldn't have noticed," he apologizes while inching his ear closer to the receiver—however, he keeps a safe distance.

"You could've called before making your way back, though!"

"I know, it didn't cross my mind at the time—it was downright irresponsible of me and I'm sorry for causing you all distress," conveys the black-haired teacher. He was glad that all his students were hanging out at the swimming pool—it would've been very unpleasant for them to be eavesdropping on this…

"..."

"..."

"I'll let them know that the students and you are okay—but it's better if they hear it from you. Just… make sure to tell the others that when you wake up tomorrow…"

"..."

"...Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"You're not lying are you?"

"No Nemuri-"

"They didn't find anything in your system did they?"

"No."

"..."

"Sho...Promise me you'll be more careful from now on."

"I'll try…"

He hears Midnight hum in faint acceptance—to her, even though it wasn't a promise, it was good enough for now.

"The news said no one else got hurt, but how are the little ones doing?"

"...they aren't acting as bad as they did after the other incidents, but I think it might've elicited some memories… they were kind of quiet on the bus before I fell asleep…" he admits as he softly rubs the side of his head in mild concern. He didn't want their well-being, mentally and physically, to be compromised... His phone finally makes contact with his ear now.

"Are you sure they weren't just being quiet for your sake?"

"What are you trying to say?"

"You know, maybe they saw that you needed a rest?"

"_Bwah_-" Eraser cuts off his own spluttered half-laugh.

"No really! They've dealt with a lot worse, haven't they?"

"..." The hand on his head pauses. Midnight would've gone further and asked about his time-management—and how it was affecting him negatively—but she knew he didn't like it when people pried into his personal life. She'll ask him when she's not at the end of a receiver.

"And based on the brief footage from the news feed, it looks like they really do care about you, Shouta. You may not see it but you're pretty good at working with kids-"

_You'd be pretty good working with kids, Shouta…_

"-Nemuri… if you're turning this into another one of those therapy sessions—stop," he suddenly, and hushedly bit out.

"What do you mean," she asks in a near baffled voice.

"..."

_'… she hadn't been there…right...'_

"..."

"Aizawa?"

His own name brings him back to the present.

"Nevermind—I apologize for earlier-"

"Sho-"

"I'll talk to you later, Nemuri-"

"Shouta—wait a sec-"

He hangs up the call, powers-down his phone, and leans against the chair he's sitting in. For more than a few minutes, Shouta stares off into the distance… Why did those memories still haunt him? He was a grown man, an _adult_—he should be way over it by now. It was practically two decades ago…

So why care so much now?

His half-lidded dark orbs land on the forgotten bowl of pork cutlet—the steam that had swum from the dish into the air, now gone.

He wasn't that hungry anyway…

Slipping out of his seat, the scruffy man reaches out for the half-full bowl and wraps it up for later. He hauls the refrigerator door open and slides the meal onto a shelf. Before Aizawa could close the fridge, he hears the entrance to the suite unlock. He wonders if entrusting his students with the keys had been a bad idea... no, he could find privacy in one of the nearby lounges if needed…

The teacher shuts the door and finds his most self-centered student radiating a simpering smile at him. When had he gotten there?

"Aoyama? Do you need something," queried Shouta with guarded curiosity.

"Désolé mon cher professeur, I was merely getting my shiny latex cap when I noticed that you look _stunning_without a goatee. Almost as stunning as moi~*!"

"..."

Aizawa didn't understand what the _hell_the kid had said at the beginning of his sentence, and he still didn't fathom what was said in the middle of it. He hasn't tampered with his facial hair since the kidnapping of Bakugo…

"What do you mean 'without a goatee?'"

"You don't know, monsieur? Did you not shaved it because of the receptionist's comment?"

The erasure hero's eyebrows attempt to connect to his eyelids as his stares at Aoyama—if it was out of confusion or miff, the teen didn't know. All Aoyama knew was that he didn't like the look he was getting…

"P-pardonne-moi, but I must go and find my cap! I need to sparkle underwater," the blondie babbles as he quickly struts his way to his luggage, grabs his said cap, and leaves the suite.

The teacher waits for the tale-tell click of the door. In bemusement, Aizawa brings a hand to his jaw and feels that his skin was as smooth as a baby's butt. His eyes grow wide...

_'The **hell**?!'_

Aizawa strides his way over to the bathroom and jerks his head in the direction of the mirror—sure enough, Aoyama and Aizawa's own senses weren't lying…

It was that or Shouta was being delusional.

Either way, he's taken aback by the face that was slightly gaping back at him—because, not only did he lose hair, but the scar on his cheek was a bit fainter than it usually was.

_'Well, that explains all the looks I've been getting…'_He realizes as he stands up straight.

_'The hair loss is understandable—must've been burned off from being electrocuted twice today… but my scar? I don't think a healer could even heal that…'_he contemplates while brushing strands of hair out of his eyes.

_'It can't be from the beam… the paramedics' equipment didn't detect anything…'_He thinks as he peers at the mark. Pokes and prods at the still-rigid skin under his right eye, and keeps doing this for at least ten minutes. Then he comes to a conclusion.

_'The only logical explanation I can think of would be that the medic, at the museum, had an exceptional healing quirk…'_he assumes, _'and, now that I'm rethinking about it, wouldn't the hair on my head fall out with my beard?'_He blinks at himself and considers whether or not to give his charcoal locks a tug. To do it would be risking baldness…. Meh. He ends up doing it anyway because, really, who cares if he loses more hair?

He grabs a handful.

And yanks he's head to the side…

Nothing.

The erasure hero squints at the mirror in befuddlement—somewhat intrigued—before a wave of fatigue makes itself known. He weakly shrugs his shoulders back.

_'I'll worry about it in the morning…'_he brushes off.

As his vision starts to become fuzzy, he exits the restroom. The pro hero locates his stuff in the corner of the room and plods towards it. Wrapping up this horrific disaster-of-a-day, Aizawa Shouta climbs into his sleeping bag on the floor of their personal lounge. He would've reserved a suite for himself—away from the foolishness of his students—but he didn't want to abuse the hotel owners' gift. He already booked two suites—an entire floor—for twenty people… Plus, he had to make sure the Mineta wouldn't meander off into the girl's suite. If he stayed here, Shouta can trust that one of the boys will wake him up if the pipsqueak falls into his temptations. He just hopes they aren't noisy when they come back from the pool…

_'Damn, it's drafty down here…'_he notes and quickly resolves the problem by covering his face with his Capture Weapon. It wasn't long until his breathing evened out…

0~ 0~0 ~0

The clitter-clatter of plates could be heard throughout the boys' flat as all thirteen teens set their breakfast on a large table.

The restaurant, from a few floors down, had surprised them with a delivery of gourmet food. The maids had carried it all the way over to their suites, and—if it wasn't for Bakugo—said maids would've set the dishes down for them. Instead, the chihuahua-tempered teen had chased them away.

The boys and girls had stayed up late at the arcade last night, and the maids had knocked on their door at the ripe time of 7 am—so it wasn't a shock to anyone that Bakugo nearly set them all on fire. Kirishima was able to calm his pal down enough for the maids to hand over the meals—but they left soon afterward. Prior to them leaving, the hotel maids asked for their teacher—whom, they found out, was still sleeping. So, instead of waking Shouta up, they asked the students to relay a letter from the hotel owners. When they were sure that the maids were gone, some of the teens couldn't help but read what was written—the letter wasn't in an envelope, which made it all the more easy to pry into...

It read:

'For the phenomenal efforts of keeping our son's well-being intact, we've provided you—and all of your pupils—delivery-free cuisines from our _Hidden Magenta_restaurant.

Please enjoy~'

-Mrs. & Ms. Leeda

Which brings the students to their current dilemma—it was more than a whole hour later, and their teacher was still asleep. The class had planned to go to a close-by obstacle course meant for quirk users—a training session that had them trembling with anticipation.

All Might, with his own connections, was able to grant the students a few hours of playtime at the popular spot—meaning that the place would close off to the general public at 12:30 pm. The former number one had told them that they were fortunate to have the opportunity and that they shouldn't waste it. They were disappointed, however, to find out that All Might wasn't able to come with them—he still had other dire, _personal_, business to tend to. But that's not what they were concerned about right now…

"We should wake Mr. Aizawa up—he'll be missing out on breakfast," Shoji, the teen with many appendages, suggests to his fellow classmates. Mineta and Kaminari both look at him as if he had four eyes… wait…

"I'm not about to risk anything today," the short purple teen nervously laughs, "you guys can go right ahead, though."

"Yeah, no...count me out," Kaminari adds in fear.

"Whoa," the red-head of their group, Kirishima, says. Usually, if they woke their teacher up—typically after an in-class test—Mr. Aizawa would simply continue on with a lecture. The first time they tried to stir him out of his slumber—without his permission—he didn't even complain. He just crawled out of his sleeping bag and started the next subject, so Kirishima was actually interested in finding out what those two did. Their current reactions meant that they somehow pissed off Mr. Aizawa, after waking him up—they had to have done something _stupid_. "What'd you guys do?"

"Let's just say a dare was done, and it will never be repeated again…"

"And now, I need to know," smirked Red Riot who was cut off by Deku.

"If you guys think it's a bad idea, we don't have to wake him up right now. It's only 8:33 am—we've got four hours until then," Midoriya, who finished skimming his notebook, chips in.

"But if he wakes up late then there won't be enough time for him to eat or get ready," their quietest classmate, Koda, pipes up. They all look at him in surprise—it wasn't every day that the shy guy would speak up. Travelling really did bring people's personalities out. In response, Koda shrinks back.

They don't pay mind to his timidity.

"Koda's right, I say we wake him up before we forget—he might have things to do. Plus, his phone's on the table and it's off," Ojiro, the tailed mutant, reasons, "which means he doesn't have an alarm set…"

"So who's gonna do it…" Sero addresses. They all share glances with one another—none of them making a move. They knew their teacher wouldn't be mad but, at the same time, they didn't know if it was too early to rouse him.

"..."

"..."

"Well, if none of you wusses are gonna wake 'em up then I will! I'm not about to risk an opportunity to test out my upgraded gearset," Bakugo spits out and then stalks over to the pile of yellow, plastic-y fluff—past Todoriki and Tokoyami.

"Hey, doesn't his sleeping bag look kinda dried up," Sato, the sugar-drinking teen, questions, "like a raisin?"

Before any of them could reply, Bakugo yells, "Teach—you might wanna get up!"

The lump in the cocoon-like bag flips on its side in agitation and a low muffled groan resonates from inside. The sound throws the students off guard. When did he ever vocalize before waking up? And what was with his voice?

-Is he having another seizure?!

"M-Mr. Aizawa?! Are you okay-" exclaims the freckled teen as he darts his way over to where his long-time classmate stood, frozen in uncertainty. The others watch in alarm while Midoriya, without hesitation, unzips the bag. Two blurry obsidian eyes automatically lock on to wide green ones…

"...Who told you to open my sleeping bag?"

_'And now it's cold,'_peevishly thought Shouta as he sits up—now halfway out of the bag. He rubs his right eye to clear his sight and what meets him are the shocked faces of his male students. Aizawa raises an eyebrow by a whisker, but the dumbfounded boys of Class 1-A weren't phased at all by his look—they continue to gawk at him. He suddenly finds himself agitated as he waits for them to form their words. Midoriya is the one to finally speak up… or at least tries to…

"Mr… Mr. Aiza...?"

"..."

_'... Did my hair completely fall out or something,'_the erasure hero speculates while scanning for any excess hair on the floor._'If that's the case then there really is no need for them to act like this…'_He brings his attention back to his students—to Midoriya.

"...Well, go on then, spi-" the teacher's sentence trails off… Aizawa didn't notice before, but…

His right-hand travels to his throat…

"..."

He brushes his neck.

His dilating eyes slide a bit to the right—looking past his students.

Then they roll to his left-hand.

And down to his form…

"..."

"..."

"...T-Teach?"

"..."

…A few seconds go by before the tranced pro slowly sinks back into his sleeping bag…

And ever so carefully zips it up.

All the way to the top…

"..."

* * *

[If you guys ever draw any of these scenes, send me a link—in the reviews—so I can see/put the link here in the fic!]  
(Have an idea for this story? Send it in the reviews and I'll consider)!


	5. Juvenile

**Chapter 4**

Juvenile

* * *

**(Author's Note):**

YASSSS, I FINISHED IT! And I ABSOLUTELY loved writing this chapter! TTuTT

Thank you for waiting!

* * *

The entrance doors to the hotel slam open.

"I'm sorry Present Mic—we didn't have any other number to call," says gravity girl, Uraraka, as she makes a beeline through the lobby. Her strain-faced English teacher follows suit—almost hitting his hip against the doorframe on his way in.

"No, no—I should be thanking you listeners for calling me! What happened—was it another seizure?" Present Mic tries to distract himself by straightening a crease on his upper jacket. It didn't flatten.

"No III… think you should see for yourself," Ochaco cuts herself off with an unsure smile, "-only the guys've seen Mr. Aizawa… so I'm not sure myself," she tells him as they enter the elevator. Hizashi wills down the sudden urge to yell and pry an explanation out of his favorite student. The blonde didn't like the feeling of being left in the dark—when the kids had gotten in touch with him, they didn't even give him a clue over the phone. Just an urgent call for help, and he had spent the entire ride—to the hotel—with a weight suppressed on his chest.

And **how **he didn't get a speeding ticket on his way here, Hizashi didn't know…

But the anxiousness he'd felt within, that he felt right now, was finally starting to make itself known-

"Uhh… Mic? Are you alright?"

His mind snapped out of his day-dream-like state, "hm? -O-oh no, no, I'm alright little listener!"

Uraraka pretends not to notice the sheen of sweat on her blonde teacher's forehead—just chalks it up to an imaginary heat-wave. She takes the hint, nods her head, and leaves Present Mic to his own thoughts. Uraraka tries to tune into the mini commercial—playing on the built-in-elevator TV in front of her—but she ultimately fails to. Mic's jittering hands were bringing her thoughts back to the tension in the air. To how her English teacher was bouncing on the balls of his feet—looking like he was about to run a 20k.

She wouldn't say it, but whenever Present Mic got like this—in his stir-crazy state—Uraraka's hands would twitch in readiness. On only a few cases, and no more _than _a few thanks to Aizawa Sensei, Class 1-A had received doses of his loud, vociferous shouting. Her ears could still feel the excruciating pulses that came from listening to his quirk. And, right now, seeing how they were in such a small space…

"..."

Uravity's mind wanders to how the DJ might react—to what she heard—but she comes to a blank. No one in Class 1-A knew how deep of a friendship Present Mic had with Aizawa, so there wasn't any indication for her to stem her predictions off of. One thing was for sure, there was _definitely_ going to be some type of wild clamor from his end. The boys themselves had gone nuts...

It was only two hours back when her fellow male-classmates had spastically knocked on their suite—just after their homeroom teacher had shut himself off to the world. Their freshly distressed brains were spewing ravings of nonsense. The most out-of-it was Deku—or maybe it was just Uraraka being hypersensitive again… The other guys seemed out of character as well. In fact, she'd didn't think she'd ever seen Shoto's lips purse like that or Bakugo's left eyebrow droop—almost like they didn't know how to react. Mineta and Denki—they were fighting between hysteria, panic, and disbelief. The rest were just shooked—all except for Aoyama. That guy never stopped beaming…

Initially, the girls had giggled at their act, but when the boys' mouths clammed shut they knew that the guys were serious. Even Shoji seemed concerned. Whatever had happened it had left them all speechless—they looked like they had _absolutely_ no idea what to do. Aizawa wouldn't respond to them and the boys had already tried getting into contact with the faculty members—unfortunately, it turned out that none of them owned any of their phone numbers…

The only number that they had, that _Midoriya_ oddly had, was All Might's—but he wouldn't pick up. They had spent five minutes calling him before the freckled teen remembered that his idol's phone had recently got wrecked…

The girls didn't own any of the faculty's phone numbers either. So instead they, who weren't freaking out as much as the guys were, searched up the school's contact number—only to realize that the school's phone lines were still being upgraded, which meant they had no one to contact.

And accessing Mr. Aizawa's smartphone was a no-no—not because it would be an invasion of his privacy, some of them were snoopy after all, but because it was locked. So they had sat there, not knowing if it'd be a good idea to talk to the mean receptionist downstairs…

But a lightbulb had gone off in Jiro's head—their English teacher, Present Mic, had a contact number on the _Put-Your-Hands-Up_ homepage. It was a huge, _gigantic_ long shot—because that line was used by billions of fans—but, by an insane miracle, they were able to get an agent to help them out. After several personal questions of course…

All in all they managed to get in touch with the iconic blondie, and now here Uraraka was, waiting with the jittery DJ as they ascend to the sixty-first floor.

"..."

"You'd expect that at least one of you would own Nezu's number."

"Y-yeah-"

"We'll need to change that," Hizashi says while mentally noting it.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...I should have been there with you guys at the museum…" the voice hero suddenly scolds himself under his breath while boring into the metallic slide-door. With some effort, his left-hand sneaks its way into the pocket of his leather jacket—the other hand running through his hair. He's startled a bit when he hears the teen respond.

"Well, how would anyone have known that an accident like that would happen? Really, since when do sweet old ladies carry weapons," Uravity offers her reasonings. She herself was struggling to keep her cool. If she told herself that everything was fine, she knew it'd be a straight-up lie.

Present Mic secretly fiddles with a balled-up bubble gum wrapper "...I know."

_ Ding 58… _

'_But still…' _the pro thought to himself—not wanting to burden one of his students with his self-blame. '_When our old friend passed, I was only a few yards away…if I had known he was there, I could've-'_

_ Ding 60… _

'_... And now Shouta… Shouta could've gone out in a similar way… twice now… I've gotta stop avoiding school trips from now on...'_ He tells himself as he mentally shudders at the possibility of encountering bugs—Aizawa almost always chooses outdoor field trips… But if it meant Yamada'd be there to help out, he'll need to learn to deal with it.

_ Ding 61… _

The elevator door opens to a hallway—two ajar entrances, facing each other, were located in the middle of the hall.

"Which suite," he softly demands in haste as he heads toward the two doors.

"The one on the left," she informs while trailing behind him. From outside the suite, he could hear a few panicky murmurs, and bickering sentences—all beyond comprehension due to the two being jumbled together. Present Mic grabs a hold of the doorknob and quickly slips in with a sidestep—Uraraka follows.

What greets him only makes Mic fidget more with the gum wrapper in his pocket. All of Class 1-A was sitting, scattered around their bagged-up homeroom teacher—a few of them were on the sofas, some in the chairs, but the majority of the students were on the floor. They all drop their whispered arguments and turn their heads to the voice hero.

"Present Mic!"

Said pro turns his attention from the occupying sleeping bag to his students, who had chorused his name in relief.

"-Was it a seizure- how long has he been in there," Mic cuts to the chase—pointing a finger at his friend. Somewhat startled by the skipped greetings, the students exchange looks. Tokoyami—the only one on perched the table, that was directly underneath a light source, answers for them.

"An hour and a half minimum, and no-"

'_Shit Sho, I thought I told you to keep me in the loop," _the blondie frowns—a quick huff of temporary relief escapes him. "_He probably forgot to call Nezu and the others too!'_ The English teacher makes his way over to his childhood friend, easily weaving his way through the teens, and squats next to Shouta. All the kids watch.

Mic jabs him on the side.

A sudden jolt, and then a shuffle—but not a single sound.

'_If he was sleeping then he's definitely awake now…'_ Mic told himself and lowers his hand to his own knee. Like fish out of water, the kids behind him drop their jaws. They waited an hour and a half for Mic to arrive, to help their homeroom teacher, and this was his solution?

"..."

If he turned around at that moment, Yamada would've laughed at their faces, but he stays in thought—staring at Aizawa.

'_Why does his sleeping bag seem smaller?'_

"..."

"...What exactly happened?"

The English teacher didn't miss the flinch that his serious voice elicitated from his friend, and it wasn't because Mic was using his quirk—he didn't even have it activated.

'_Looks like he didn't know I was coming… he was sleeping…' _Yamada notes with squinting eyes. He was hoping that Aizawa would answer his question—so he could gauge his friend's well-being through his voice—but instead, Yaoyorozu speaks up…

"The guys told us that… um…well…" she casts her gaze to the ground and doesn't finish her sentence—then she looks to their calmest classmate, Todoroki, for help. Old habits never truly die. Shoto's eyes grow at the sudden responsibility-

"He…" the double quirk user starts.

Everyone turns to the icy-hot teen—focusing on what he was going to say…

"..."

"He'll have to show you himself," finishes the teen and everyone almost falls flat on their faces. Yamada groans out his frustration. "I'm not going to explain something that someone needs to see in order to believe…"

"...Yeah, he's right Mic… you might not even believe your eyes if Teach gets out of his bag…" Kirishima backs Todoroki up, "Heck, I didn't…"

A hair strand _boinged _out of Mic's blonde mohawk and he releases his hold on the wrapper. He was going to encourage them to explain, but when he saw their expressions he knew that they wouldn't. '_UGH, I don't understand why no one can just straight-up tell me… and why isn't Sho talking?!" _Yamada turns back to his close friend.

"**Hey**, Sho!"

No response—not even to the public use of his nickname. And he knew that Aizawa _hated_ being called that in front of others…

'_Okay, now I'm worried…' _

"**Shouta**, I know you're awake! ...Dude, get out of there," Mic's voice rises as his hands reach for the zipper. Once his hands make contact with the bag—and before he even had a firm grip on the zip—the yellow bag rolls away.

"**SHOUTA**!"

"..."

Were they not so concerned, the kids would have been highly amused at the sight of Hizashi chasing a rolling caterpillar…

'_When the heck have I ever seen him act like __**this**__, or even care about his looks,' _Yamada ponders as he corners the sleeping bag. '_During high school?! __**Maybe**__!' _He stretches his arms out in case he needs to dive.

Asui—and a few of the other girls, including Mina—block the remaining pathways, "Mr. Aizawa!" The male students silently watch in nervousness.

"**SHOUTA**! Seriously, **get out of there**!"

"..."

The bag doesn't move an inch… almost like it was _mocking_ him…

"...I'll use my **QUIRK** if I have too," the girls take a step back.

"-Go **away**, Hizashi!"

Said pro blinks at his friend's tone… and, pitch…? The girls look at one another and the guys purse their lips.

'_The fudge…?'_

"Sho? You good, man?" The blondie misses the involuntary winces from the onlooking students.

"I'll be _**good**_ once you _**leave**_ me alone," the erasure hero quietly sasses. Present Mic's arms swing back to his sides. Patience had left him. He just about had enough of Shouta's _BS_. Mic leans his head to where he knows Aizawa's ear is, and whispers.

"_Listen, and listen __**good**__. If you don't, __**at least**__, let me see your mug—I will, __**personally**__, make an effort of a shit-show in front of __**ALL**_ _our students. And I know you can't use your quirk on me if you can't see me, Eraser,"_ Yamada threatens. The students didn't know what their English teacher said, as it was too low for them to hear, but—by the hiss of his inhale—they knew where this was going. They all stopped their search for cover when their avoidant teacher suddenly sat up.

"..."

"'_** Zashi…**"_ Aizawa muffles a gentle whisper through the fluff, "_your __**either**_ _going to grow some conscience… __**or**_ _I'm going to __**kill**_ _you…"_

The voice hero wrenches back from his friend's tone of voice—lucky not to accidentally bump into one of the oblivious students behind him. What the heck kind of response was that? If Hizashi wasn't his close friend—if he wasn't concerned with why Shouta would resort to this type of threat—he would've left him alone. That tone, in that sentence, was intimidating—even in that pitch. But he knew Aizawa all too well—him and his '_logical' ruses_. He bends himself back to the bag.

"_...Eraser, don't make me do this… your students need you to take them to that obstacle course in less than two hours. Just let me make sure you're fine before you go…"_ the voice hero pleads.

The sleeping bag just stays stock-still, unmoving for what seems like a millennium. Hizashi barely notices the subtle change in the rise and fall of the bag. Then it wiggles before an all too familiar _zziiip _could be heard. The male students look anywhere but at the bag, while the female students—and Hizashi—fix their gazes on the being inside. With hesitation, that he's unwilling to ever admit, Shouta slowly peels away the cocoon-like bag—an extremely dark frown marring his visage...

And their boggled eyes nearly pop out of their skulls.

"Sh-" Hizashi tries but fails—his face demented into a nonplussed disaster of flesh as his pointer finger shakily rises towards Aizawa. "Ooou…"

Instead of their jaws, they all hear Mic's glasses hit the floor…

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"H-HOLY _COW!?_" Mina breaks the silence—her hands fly up to grab handfuls of her hair to stop herself from grabbing her phone. The pink heroine accidentally blurts, "HE'S SO CUTE!"

"WHAT THE _HELL_, MINA?!"

The still quiet erasure hero tightly crosses his arms as he simmers further into his inner fit of pique—purposefully covering almost all of his now ebony face. Everyone—including the guys—broke into ramblings, splutterings, and a plethora of incoherent words. And Hizashi…

Oh boy, _**Hizashi**_…

He still had his noodle finger pointing at his friend—he hadn't even moved a single muscle yet. The only muscles that did move were the ones moving he's humongous green eyes—eyes that basically spun as they took in the current condition of his closest friend. One eyeball blinked before the other…

"..."

Aizawa had lost his beard, but that's not what was tripping Yamada over. It was his friend's _features_… _**all**_ of **them!** From the short jet-black hair, the unmarked complexion of his face, to how his ninja-like clothes clung on to him for dear life… The ma- ...the guy looked exactly like he was when they were second years at UA!

A five-foot-three.

Sixteen-year-old.

Kid…

Hizashi's breath hitches.

And that was warning enough for all the teens to hit the deck-

"_**WWWWWW**_**WWWWW**_**WWHHHH**_**HHHHH**_**HHAAAA**_**AAAAA**_**AAAAAAAA**_**AAAAAA**_**AAAAAAAA**_**AAAAA**_**AAAA**_**AAAAA**_**AAAAAAAA**_**AAAAAA**_**AAAAAAAA**_**AAAAA**_**AAAA**_**AAAAA**_**AAAAAAAA**_**AAAAAA**_**AAAAAAAA**_**AAAAA-**_**?!**_"

And in the midst of all the chaos, Bakugo was the only one to realize that Aizawa wasn't going to do anything. Whether he forgot about his erasure quirk or not, Katsuki didn't know-

"_**-AAAA**_**AAAAA**_**AAAAAAAA**_**AAAAAA**_**AAA-"**_

All the hothead knew was that he needed to find a way to stop his ears from popping a third time. So, driven by the current onslaught on his bloody ears, the explosive teen propels himself and tackles the blonde elf-

"**AAAAAA**_**AAAAAAAA**_**AAAAA****-OOF-"**

"..."

0~ 0~0 ~0

A check slams against the countertop of Epocha Inn's reception desk. With a _tsk_, the ruffled-up voice hero eyes the rude receptionist before lifting his gloved hand off the paper.

"Make sure the Leedas get this," Yamada informs. He throws his leg in one direction to turn his lanky body around—all while adjusting his headsets. He could hear the scoff from the other man as he left.

'_That dude's got a helluva an attitude…' _the pro sneers to himself as he makes his way over to the cafe.

The use of Mic's quirk had shattered the windows of _at least_ fourteen floors, damaged over thirty devices, a hundred fine chinaware, three TVs—you know, the list can go on and on but let's just say it had totaled up to about 4,132,125.70 yen. But honestly, Hizashi could care less about the bill—he was making an overwhelming amount of money these days, so it didn't matter much… What he had been more worried about was potentially hurting his students and his friend.

Yep, by some _insane_ _miracle_, the glass shards that fell from the sixty-first floor didn't hit anyone or anything—and Hizashi truly, wholeheartedly, believed there were some whimsical guardian angels watching over him and his actions… But, he had still harmed the people close to him—Class 1-A, and their homeroom teacher, had to have their bleeding ears healed… and, even though they forgave him, the blondie just felt awful…

This was the main reason why he never uses his quirk indoors, at such a high volume. He knew it could cause injuries—even risk lives...

When he had threatened to use his quirk on Aizawa, it had been more of a bluff than anything—but, if he had needed to come down to it, Yamada would've used his quirk at a low frequency. _Much_ lower than the one he had used earlier... But his intentions didn't matter to the hotel owners—they weren't too thrilled about the partial destruction of their estate...

Or at least he had initially thought they weren't. From the recent call the blonde had with them—they didn't seem _entirely_ upset. Was it because they took this as an opportunity to ask Present Mic to advertise for their hotel? Yes, yes it was. He could have easily shot down the request to be apart of a commercial shooting—he'd already paid for the damages—but he already felt bad enough so he had to accept it.

'_And now my plate's overflowing…' _he thought to himself as he smeared a hand down his face—the hotel guests, passing by, gave him odd looks. He'll check up on his appearance after he checks up on a certain grump… He ignores their funny expressions and enters the cafeteria—which was currently vacant. Breakfast had been over ages ago, but that didn't stop his dark-haired friend from retrieving a drink. Mic finds him at one of the tables—slowly sipping away his beverage all while swiping a small finger on a tablet. Shouta's slightly large eyes were studying the now-cracked screen, and the _kid _sets his cup down.

No one would believe it, but Eraserhead was one of those first-year students who came in with a baby face—yeah, Hizashi's had been more cute, which was easily imaginable to anyone that met him now. But Aizawa's? It still mind-boggled him on how much the dude had changed over their high school years. He remembers how Nemuri and himself would find Shouta sleeping in class, on the floor, and they would often tease him about his metamorphosis… Would it be too soon to mess with him? Probably.

'_But eventually…'_

Yamada didn't realize he was staring at him—not until the de-aged thirty-one-year-old cuts his steely eyes away from the screen.

"Do you _mind?_"

"S-sorry… " falters the DJ with a jump. Shouta keeps his searing black eyes on Hizashi, who cautiously takes the seat across. Shouta watches his new company look to the side, with a strained poker-face—mustache twitching as he nosily clasps his hands upon the table.

Closing his mouth from the dead fish-face he was giving his idiot friend, the erasure hero brings his attention back to the document that he was working on. Before this horrendous trip started, Aizawa had scanned a few documents—the exams that he couldn't finish grading because of Iida's sneezes. So far, he had done three—right now he was marking Asui's, and he couldn't hide the tiny sparkle in his eyes.

'_...at least he's acting somewhat like himself…'_ Eraser's companion thought while leaning back into his chair. '_But still… without the scar, goatee, dark circles, and body mass… __**age**__... you can barely tell he's the same person… even with Tokoyama's black clothes.'_

As more seconds went by, Hizashi could've sworn he smelt a familiar scent coming from whatever drink the dude had—but a short cough from his teenage pal derails his attention.

"..."

"If you're going to keep staring, Hizashi, I'm _leaving_," he practically growls out while keeping his eyes glued to his device. Yamada quickly finds the pepper and salt interesting… huh… how did Epocha keep their shakers spotless?

Suddenly, some of Aizawa's Capture Weapon slips down from his shoulder, but the teen doesn't make a move to correct it—not with his co-worker there… He ignores the urge to adjust it and hopes it was subtle enough for the other to not notice…

Nope.

'Course it wasn't. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the voice hero's sheepish smile, and how the DJ's hands started to move to try and fix the scarf. He immediately meets Hizashi's swirly, anxious orbs and deliberately squints—making the usually pompous pro halt and cave in.

"-Look, I can't help but _stare,_ Shouta!"

"..."

"Dude! You're _a __**kid**_," he exclaims as he throws his arms out at Aizawa. The small pro swiftly leans back and simultaneously takes his styrofoam cup out of the way—a portion of it's black liquid spilling in the process. Ice in the cup clinking together with the motion.

"_Back off-_"

The warning cuts short when a gloved, slender finger points at the newly formed puddle between them.

"Hold up… is that iced coffee?"

"..."

Shouta's scowling eyes rise up to challenge Yamada's now-scrutinizing ones. A chill runs down the man's back, but he wouldn't let his nerves get to him. Not if it meant keeping the well-being of any of his friends in check—especially Aizawa's. That guy sucked at self-preservation sometimes.

Behaving as if unphased by the death-stare he was receiving, Present Mic's right-hand points at the teen—his left-hand lifts up into the air. A gesture Aizawa knew all too well. Yamada, although implicitly warned not to, allows himself to tread into dangerous waters.

"Wouldn't that be bad for your body, now?"

Absolutely no. Shame. Whatsoever.

Without another word, Aizawa plucks a napkin from the mini napkin dispenser, soaks up all the spilt coffee, and then leaves with his stuff.

"Whhooa, _NO_, Sho don't go!"

Yamada hops out of his seat and catches up to him at the trash can, "Dude, I'm serious!" He snatches the coffee out of Eraserhead's hand, "You don't know what-"

Aizawa's eyes flash red, "and I was _serious_ when I said that I'd leave!" The teen strikes his leathered arm—throwing the taller one off guard—and then he harshly takes his drink back.

Yamada quickly straightens up. "WELL, I'm sorry for spending _two hours_, rushing over here, to see how my friend was doing," Hizashi bites back while rubbing his bicep—a tear hanging from his left eye. "Why didn't you keep us in the loop like I asked," the voice hero's right hand rose to the front of his own chest as his eyebrows furrow downward. This was the fifth time he had to ask this!

Aizawa's piercing red glare grows harder, and he stays like that—with his quirk activated. His stance told the other that he wasn't having this. They barely acknowledge the young brunette woman that casually enters the cafeteria. She was planning to get her own coffee but her languid body freezes at the scene. She scurries off. Both pros were left locked in a staredown—Yamada had almost caved in when the lady vanished. His chest inflates.

"Geez! Can I at least get a '_thank you' _for calling Nezu on your behalf?!" Eraser's face flinches before Yamada continues. "I mean, I understand you're embarrassed, Aizawa—which is why I didn't tell them about," Hizashi sharply waves a hand up and down Shouta, "this." Aizawa's front teeth glint, "but that shouldn't stop you from sending an email!"

"..."

"Not cool!"

Finally, Eraserhead's eyelids fall shut. His charcoal locks sink along with his shoulders and his frown flattens into an unreadable, straight line. '_He's right,'_ Aizawa tells himself, '_they were all worried for their students, and—again—I...'_

"... 'Zashi, I didn't mean to… " he decides to come clean—his friend knew him too well for any lies to fly-by, so may as well be honest right? He deserved it after all. However, he doesn't finish his sentence.

The adult—the only one that looks like an adult—forces his quirk down. Air flows out his nostrils. '_Zashi_ was about to give a full-on scolding—because, really, _that_ was not a good explanation-

"You didn't _mea-_" but then he caught the glimpse of nostalgia in Eraser's evasing eyes… Confusion plays across Yamada's features before he notices how the yellow spectacles were in the younger one's pocket. He hadn't seen them there before—since Shouta had been sitting—but, now that he was aware of them, he could feel alarms go off in his head. Why his mind was zoning in on the googles, at that very second, he had no clue. Nor did he know why they were tucked there in the first place…

'_Doesn't he keep them on his neck? Why would he take them off now-'_

And then it dawns on Yamada…

The googles.

His current appearance.

And melancholic expression.

"..."

One that he hadn't seen in years…

'_... Oh,'_ Mic's hands droop from the air and slowly down to his pants. Eraser wasn't embarrassed to call them… that wasn't it. The reason was far from that…

And the fact that his friend _even_ hinted an admittance—an admittance to thinking about the taboo subject…

"..."

"Ya… wanna talk about it?"

"-No."

"-you've never mentioned it befo-"

"-_No._"

"-but in your curre-"

"_**-Yamada."**_

"..."

"..."

"...Okay," Present Mic weakly replies. He had always been more open to talking about it than Aizawa was, _always_—after all, Shouta'd been closer to their friend. So it didn't surprise him that Sho blocked him out again—for the hundredth time. But it's been sixteen years… Yamada faintly sighs.

'_When is he ever going to open up to one of us?'_

As much as he wanted to be angry with Shouta for his recent discretions—uncharacteristically irresponsible actions—he understood why he acted the way he did now. And he could only imagine what it was like to be back at the same age again—at the age of when it happened. The incident had a major impact on all of them, and it still amazes Hizashi how Nemuri, Shouta and himself had stayed acquainted—even to this day.

"..."

They stand there for a few seconds—both looking at the unique texture of the floor—trying to forget…

But then the voice hero's boots begin to shift. His leathery pants squeak, and arms begin to flutter with movement—like a bird waking up from its cage. Yamada decides to fill the empty void with whatever he thought of—he didn't want either one of them to linger on the past again. Not when the other wouldn't say a thing. Plus, he was never good at staying quiet.

"Have you…" Hizashi's words almost cause Shouta to bristle like a cat, but he finishes, "talked to the receptionist?" The teen relaxes—grip on the hand-held tablet loosening. Not giving the reaction much thought, Yamada continues.

"The dude's a rude nude-head if you get what I mean…" Yamada smoothens out a few stray blonde strands, "I asked for a pen to fill a check out for the Leedas, and he just throws one in my beautif-o hair-"

Shouta brings his dark orbs up to Hizashi—who overdramatically sulks like a child.

"-Then he said I looked like a cockatiel!"

Aizawa knew that his companion was just trying to lighten the mood for the both of them. That he wasn't _intentionally_ trying to talk to him like an adult would to a kid—Hizashi was, in general, childish. So he plays along—anything to keep his mind off of the previous subject… not that what the blondie said wasn't funny…

"... He's not lying," Eraserhead comments—a Mona Liza smile etching his lips at Hizashi's disbelief. "You screech like one, too."

"YO, what happened to the support?! Aren't you supposed to be on my side?!"

Shouta flashes him a sapless smirk and takes another slow sip of his cold unsweetened coffee. Mic's upper appendages continue to flail—his own way of showing confusion. Sigh… such an immature nincompoop…

Against the rim of the cup, Aizawa cheekily mumbles, "I am. I'm just stating facts-"

"Uncool, dude," pouts the voice hero while Eraser half shrugs.

"And I'm just surprised that your illegal parrot-screech from earlier didn't attract the media," Shouta says then downs the remainder of his drink. With a noodle-arm, he—almost stiffly—dumps the cup into the nearby bin.

Hizashi could still sense the other topic weighing on the other's mind—could still see the slight stiffening of his jaw—but it seems like it was starting to disappear. "Sho, don't jinx it!"

Eraserhead's expression exudes the word, '_really,'_ as he begins to walk out of the cafe. "I don't believe in that irrational garbage, 'Zashi. If it happens, it happens-"

Hizashi offendedly holds his chest and casts his head to the side—all while following his smol pal, "I'm still blaming you if it does!"

The raven-haired boy half rolls his eyes, "… you know, I could report you myself-" At the sound of this, Yamada latches on to his arm-

"NO, _PLEASE_!"

Aizawa smacks him off and gives him a resting poker-face, "I said '_I could'_—it doesn't mean that I will."

Hizashi deflates with another hand on his chest, "geez, you really enjoy putting people on edge, huh?"

A Cheshire smile threatens to split the teen's face.

They enter the lift and the erasure hero presses the button to their designated floor number. Silence creeps up on them once more before the blondie resonates a hum.

"...Uhmm…" the English teacher's tone drops. Eraser tilts his head to him—a quizzical look crossing his own young features, but Mic could see the underlying defensiveness.

"...Sho… You really alright with a broken screen?" A sudden vein could be seen growing on the shorter one's forehead and Yamada rushingly finishes, "I can still go and buy you a-"

"I told you—it's fine, Hizashi."

"…"

"Something else?"

"Yeah, uh, I've been meaning to ask you… that old lady's weapon, that's what caused you to de-age, right?"

"Most likely..."

"Do… you think it has a reverse switch," Hizashi asks, but Aizawa knew he was beating around the bush… What he really wanted to ask was: _do you think you'll stay like this forever?_

"..."

"Shouta?"

"We'll have to find out..." came a quick and dismissive reply.

Sensing that he was—once again—risking future avoidance from Shouta, the radio hostess drops the subject. He'll touch upon that matter—along with the taboo one—when the freshness of the situation subsides. When he could lock Shouta in a room. For now, Yamada decides to keep a closer eye on his friend…

"Right…"

0~ 0~0 ~0

"..."

"Did… you guys see Mr… Aizawa's face?"

The shuffling of duffle bags intensify as silence painfully continues to smother them. It was like no one had heard Uraraka's question, but she knew that they did. How could they not? They were all grouped together, outside of their suites—giving each other fifty-yard-stares. Waiting where their teachers had told them to wait. Where, at any given moment, they'd be picked up.

Guess none of them wanted to be caught talking about Eraserhead…

In fact, no one had actually said anything so far. Nothing coherent—not since Eraser had gotten out of his sleeping bag… It was a strange sight, really. Class 1-A—the most hyperactive, trouble-magnet class in the entire region—just standing there, with mouths sewn shut. It even seemed like some of them were trying to vacuum their own lips out of existence. Oh, she would've laughed it weren't for the context of it all.

The brunette could feel the lid—on all of their bottled up thoughts—weakening. The stitches on their mouths unwinding from how much they wanted to gossip, but no one dared to-

"Guys?"

At least Mina had to speak up or Tsu, right? But they—too—were still frightened, and Uraraka couldn't blame them. The look that Aizawa had on his face—the one that he gave them all after Yamada had been knocked out—it-holy… and it was... _yikes_…

Even Bakugo had taken a step back…

Ochaco stops herself from shuddering.

"I mean… if I were in Teach's shoes… I'd react the same way…" Jiro blankly chops out at the gravity girl—giving her a bone so she could possibly shut it. But then she realizes that speaking up was a mistake, because now Jiro sees the others making an effort to word their own thoughts. While looking back at Uraraka, she hastily adds, "-and the commotion would definitely throw me off… " They all stopped, and Earphone Jack's pupils subconsciously slide over to Ashido. Whether she meant to or not, Jiro caused everyone to follow her gaze to the preppy pinkie—who suddenly felt exposed.

"H-hey," she said, but that only confirmed her guiltiness. And if her face got any pinker than it was, it was impossible to tell, "I couldn't help myself!" The pink girl throws her forearms out, "it was either that or take a photo!"

The majority raise their eyebrows at her—except for Denki. The electric user fell into his own spooked state, but he soon broke out of it, "trust me, you guys, Mina chose to save us our lives…"

"..."

Again, Kirishima and some of the other students give Kaminari a 'please-elaborate' stare. This time they were met with a slow head shake—in which Denki didn't break eye-contact with the spiky-redhead.

'_Well, it was worth a shot,' _thought Red Riot as he finally decides to let go of his curiosity. He fixates onto Mina again, "you know, I still can't believe you called Teach cute-"

A blush could now be seen on her cheeks, and her arms flail like cooked noodles, "MY-FILTER-CAN'T-HOLD-THAT-TYPE-OF-STUFF, **KIRISHIMA!** I'M-A-HUNDRED-PERCENT-CERTAIN-THAT-YOU-ALL-THOUGHT-SO-TOO-"

"Guys," Midoriya, shifting on his feet, butts in from the farthest side of the hallwayt, "I r-really think we should stop now. _M_r-err… Eraserhead wouldn't appreciate us talking behind his back-"

His words were soft-spoken, and no one was surprised—Midoriya _was_ the one who coaxed Aizawa out of his sleep. So he probably felt a boat load of irrational guilt, and a crap-ton of awkwardness, just from merely discussing about it. Unlike a certain plum-colored kid…

"-Oh, hush Midoriya! Accept it, deny it, it doesn't matter because he's one of us now!" Miniature hands rub together, "and sweet, sweet revenge will fall upon him once we have our one-on-ones at the obstacle course!"

"..."

"Ribbit, Mineta, that was uncalled for."

"-and kinda petty-"

"Yeah, seriously? Just because he took back the stolen magazines last week?"

Oh boy, this again... It had been to their teacher's dissatisfaction that the entire school had heard about this; how, in the dead of night, Mineta had cried and howled all because Mr. Aizawa had caught him looking at Nemuri's _missing _magazines. "THAT'S JUST ONE REASON OUT OF MANY," exclaimed Grape Juice—like his treatment had been the most offensive thing in the world. The boys blink at him in concern while the girls slightly grind their teeth. "I will get my vengeance! VENGEANCE-"

"Man, have some respect-"

"No, he's gonna learn respect through failure. Do you really think a fight depends on muscle-mass alone, midget?" Katsuki scoffs, "I thought you were one of the smart ones!"

"-heh, takes a failure to know that," the tiny teen slurs out beneath his breathe. Regret shoots up the little guy's spine when he realizes that he had said it too loud. His huge eyes roll past Kirishima to the pale-blondie, who had his shoulder blades up against the wall-

"Wanna say that to my face?!" Bakugo's quirk flares up as he brings his full body-weight to his feet. Everyone sweatdrops, hands rising up in a peaceful way to tell him to calm down. But when has he ever listened to them? Hot-head Bakugo grins maniacally at the new punching bag, but then Todoroki puts an arm in his way.

"Move aside, Icy-Hot!"

Shoto keeps his stance—_icy-hot_ eyes boring into red ones with quiet determination. "We shouldn't be fighting here—not after Present Mic's quirk-slip-"

"Oh, it's not a fight-"

"It doesn't matter what it is—UA can't afford to have another incident on it's reputation," Katsuki shoves the other to the side, "not right now." The underlying meaning of Shoto's sentence brought Midoriya to block him as well. Mineta slowly leaves his spot as Bakugo's attention cuts to the green-head.

"Kacchan-"

Ashido, while the others were distracted, leans in towards her girl squad—whispering the best she could so that the boys couldn't hear, "_but seriously, though—let's be honest—Teach was adorable as hell! Not nearly as hot as Todoroki, but he was cute!"_

Of course the gossip-girl would still be thinking about it…

"_I know! Who would've guessed,"_ Hagakure adds on but trails off when the other female students give her critical squints. "_You can't say we're wrong-" _the invisible teen suddenly stops as a hand appears on—what was hopefully—Hagakure's shoulder…

"_..."_

"_-Why can't you girls talk about me,"_ quipped a certain purple maggot. They didn't know when he butted in—or how he escaped the hothead's sight—but they sure knew how he was getting out. From afar, the boys of Class 1-A watch their shortest member soar across the hallway—headfirst into the closed elevator door.

And had it been a moment later, Mineta would've crashed into Present Mic and Eraserhead…

With a perplexed smile, Yamada scans the hall—quickly connecting eyes with each one of his listeners, "-weeeirdness, could've sworn I heard fighting…" He suspiciously locks his gaze onto Bakugo for a second—who was surrounded by Todoroki and Midoriya. The boy humors him with a sneer. Mic shifts his footing in discomfort and then he feels something wiggle against his foot. The DJ goes rigid as his face goes pale. His neck forms a double-chin in order to see what was touching him. Class 1-A and their homeroom teacher hear the shaky sigh that slips past Mic's teeth when he realizes it was just Mineta.

"Ugghh-ow…"

"W-whoa, whoa, _whoa-oh_—watcha doing on the floor, perverted listener?" Hizashi tries to play off his nerves as he wobbly budges the half-dead teen with his boot. He would've kept going but he pauses at the white angry scleras that flash in his direction. Aizawa's eyes melt a hole into Mic's face. Hizashi sets his foot down and watches his friend wield his Capture Weapon. The scarf lifts Mineta off the ground, and the unspoken warning—to not name-call any of their students—was, once again, tacitly drilled into the blondie's head.

"Mineta," setting the pipsqueak down somewhat roughly, the five-foot-three pro restates the blondie's question, "care to explain why were you on the ground?"

"Uh…"

Really, it didn't take much for anyone to connect the dots—Mineta, on the floor, with a bruised cheek, in front of a group of girls, all displaying disgust… even a dimwit could catch on. Aizawa already knew the answer, but he just wanted to see if Mineta would acknowledge his unjust behavior—if he could recall, and understand, the past scoldings that Shouta gave him-

"... I tripped?"

Apparently nothing had stuck…

"Nice try," he releases his weapon's hold on Minoru and ignores all the confused expressions. Aizawa didn't need the full details of what Mineta did—he had read the uncomfortable atmosphere coming off of the other students—making one of them explain it in front of everyone would only lead to embarrassment. So he cuts to the chase, "as punishment for not respecting your fellow classmates, you will go against the six of them for your _one_-on-one."

Mineta's face lights up.

"_Were _you'll only be dodging them while sparring _with _me."

The lit face falls.

"As for the rest of you," he brings his gaze to his students—who hesitantly keep their eye contact with him. "I expect you all to stay focused—full on take this opportunity. You won't be given another chance to use this obstacle course for a while, so make sure to pay attention." They nod their heads—no replies. He internally sighs.

"-you heard him, listeners. Let's get this show on the road!"

0~ 0~0 ~0

"-Todoroki."

"Here."

"Uraraka."

"...Here!"

"Yaoyorozu."

"..."

"_Yaoyorozu._"

"H-here!"

Aizawa breathes. He ignores the urge to deride the incredulous looks he catches from his students, or how hard it was to suddenly hold himself back from snapping—that shouldn't have taken longer than it did. If they aren't focused by the time they get to the place he'll need to give them another reminder.

Sternly, the teacher checks off the last name on his tablet and then plops down onto his seat—the seat closest to the driver's. He had told his class—after they all had finally calmed themselves down from that chaotic mess-of-a-revelation—that nothing would change. That he was still their teacher... that their classes _would_ still go on, and that they _will_ resume their trip like normal.

Well… he was only certain about the last two…

But, right now, it's not in his duty to think about his own issues. Right now he needed to get his students on time to the obstacle course, watch over them, provide advice on how to improve their techniques, and make sure that they'll give it their all, Plus Ultra—which meant he needed to compose himself.

Because if he didn't they won't…

'_So calm down—every problem can be overcome, Shouta…'_

"..."

What a paradoxical sentence… he had tried to encourage himself but it had brought more memor-

Not ready to give it much more thought, he clears his throat and tucks the tablet away in his bag. Before he gets a chance, to cue the bus driver to leave—however—Yamada buts in.

"**YO**, _YO_, yo! We're all set, my man! Hit the ROAD!"

The DJ awkwardly shoots rotating finger guns at the guy. In return, the driver—still somewhat curious as to what had happened to the slouchy teacher he saw earlier—gives the thirty-one-year-old a thumbs up. The old man wasn't going to ask because he assumed that the other mentor had urgent business to attend to—plus, Present Mic was a well-known hero and UA teacher. In other words, this wasn't something that the driver needed to worry about—he turns the ignition.

The VIP bus starts up, and Shouta throws daggers at Hizashi. From across the aisle, the blonde notices this. Yamada, with the stealth of a rooster at sunrise, whistles to himself and finds the window to his right fascinating—a grin showing itself apparent on his face. Up until a bug smashes against the glass-

Paper-white skin suddenly prickles as a block of cement settles in his gut-

"HE-AH**HHH**!"

Class 1-A doesn't even pay mind to the scene. They were used to the overdramatic outbursts their English teacher, and knew—by heart—that the scream was due to an insect.

The end of the erasure kid's lip tugs upwards at the sight of him—throwing his arms away from the vermin. Sweat drips down the frantic one as he keenly observes the way the thing winks at him. It splays it's spindly hairy limbs and whirs its wings—taking flight and relieving Mic of its presence…

Aizawa couldn't shroud the glint of vengeful satisfaction in his eyes, which hadn't been missed by the entomophobe. Yamada riles up at the unfair ridicule-

-pulling his smartphone out of his pocket-

_KA-CHA~_

'_... he did not…'_

Eraser squints and sees the tears hanging around the edge of Mic's crazed, scrunched-up eyes—nearly the same malevolent expression that Ms. Joke would make.

'_He __**d i d**_…'

"It won't be leaked—I swear," Hizashi says with a damning, broad smile.

A smile that completely wipes off his face when Shouta's scarf snags the device. The owner makes a grab for his item, but it was too fast of a steal. The use of Aizawa's Capture Weapon causes the heads—of their pupils—to direct to the front.

And, as Hizashi cries out, he dramatically claps his gloved hands together in an outstretched, pray-like gesture—fingers meeting at the top. "Shouta! Come on, dude! Can I at least have one photo!" Although it was an action of revenge, Mic had actually wanted to keep a picture of his friend's… admittedly cute state—especially with that rare smirk. Even if it was an unkind one.

A half-lidded blink answers Yamada's question and then Eraserhead's thumb jams into the 'permanently delete' button. A pause later and Aizawa's lips curve downward—Yamada's shit-eating smile comes back, and the pro teen's clasp around the smartphone grows tighter.

A dialing panel had appeared—asking for a password.

"Aye Eraser, forgot to tell you something! Since you keep deleting our selfies together, I'v-"

_**CRUNCH**_

Mic's expression collapses in on itself—a more loud and pitiful cry comes out as the studs—of his designer phone-case and home button—fall to the floor. "_**DU-UDE!**_" He throws himself into a Mandukasana (frog) pose on the aisle—Class 1-A and the bus driver flinch at the thud. With his chin close to the ground, Mic tries to pick up the small pieces—the task being more of a challenge without his close-vision glasses, "_**MY BABY-Y-Y!"**_

Shouta's eyeballs almost roll out of their own sockets for the millionth time this week. "Stop acting like you're crushed—you replace your phone every month, Hizashi." Like Thanos sprinkling salt, Aizawa drops the rest of the pieces into an in-wall-trash-bin.

"Yeah, but I was really getting used to that one," Mic whines back, "it even had extra bass speakers on the side!"

'_And now I'm grateful to have broken it,'_ an image of Hizashi blasting the latest trending songs flashed in his head—how obnoxious would it have been to instruct over music during the obstacle course?

The kids hide their amusement. They've heard and seen their English teacher break his mobile device, at least three times, this semester…

~Cue the Three Flashbacks~

"_Yamada, isn't that a little risky?"_

_Mic looks up from the cup-holder he was carrying. He looks at All Might dumbly, "what is?"_

_All Might is dumbfounded by his… dumbness. "Where you have your phone placed—what if it slips into one of the drinks?"_

_Hizashi brings his attention back to the blue phone—positioned perfectly on top of the four, open, cups. He then gives Toshinori a sly grin, "but you forget that I am a pro hero as well! My balance is on flee-" _

_Mic trips on a rock and his cell takes a dip halfway into icy, green liquid… _

"_..."_

"_Oh, geez, what did I tell you?"_

"_Chill Toshi, it's waterproof," the blonde elf gives him a cool look and whips his hand up in style. He slowly takes his azul phone out of the smoothie. "See everything's fine-o… oh… shit…"_

_They both witness the sleek phone—with the help of gravity—reveal itself from underneath the substance. Acidic marks flaunting, sizzling on the screen as Hizashi and his companion stare…_

"_... What in-the-hell kind of poison were you trying to give us?!"_

"_... The Strawberry Kiwii Mix…" Yamada's shoulders drop, "with a tad of alcohol..." _

0 ~ 0

"_Hey! Yami! Hurry it up, the movies about to start!"_

_Yamada, unable to bite open the wrapper around a popcorn bag, quickly leaves his black phone on top of a microwave. "I'm trying, I'm trying! Jeez-laweez, it's like they don't want us to __**eat**_ _**their**_ _**FOOD**__!" After dueling the plastic bag's tensile-strength into submission, Hizashi rams the uncooked popcorn into the machine. _

"_Yamaadaaaa!"_

"_HOLD YOUR HORSES, Nemuri!"_

_He slams the door shut and punches in for three minutes—why the flip they asked him to pop the popcorn was beyond him. They all knew he burnt everything!_

_A minute later and his five-out-of-five intellect kicks in—he realizes that he left his baby on top of the microwave… he could just __**hear**_ _Aizawa calling him out on how smart he was…_

_Maybe it hadn't been there for too long! Maybe the microwave's electromagnetic field was too weak! Mic quickly picks up his cell and—with hope—tries to turn it on. Induction be damned please! His face brightens up when the logo appears—only to have it crumble at the sudden shut-off._

_Despair parks itself in his stomach when he realizes—after several attempts at the power button—that the phone wouldn't turn on again._

"_... Beautiful," grumbles the DJ under his breath, "what else can go wrong?"_

_At that exact moment, he catches the popcorn bag __**hopping sideways**_ _in the microwave, and he was completely mind blown as to whether or not he was seeing things. So much so that—when he snapped out of it—Yamada wasn't able to get the bag out in time. A catastrophic explosion sets the machine on fire-_

"_HIZASHI, WHAT THE F-?!"_

0 ~ 0

"_**FEEEL DA BEeeEAT~!" **__Hizashi dances, on top of the teacher's desk, with his eyes shut—the phone in his hand at maximum volume. All the students watch in awe and stupidity… the pro was… pretty damn good at dancing dubstep. _

_His mohawk bopped to the beat as he slid his pointer finger across the air-_

_Suddenly, the door flies open-_

"_**Present Mic!**_"

_Mic miss-steps and falls backwards. His red cellphone, along with the song, trajects out an opened window—it begins to plummet down to the pavement, stories below. On its way down, the rhythmic tune disrupts a serious conversation between All Might and Nezu. They look out the window. Then a heart-shattering... splat… echos back up to 1-A's classroom. No one questions what the sound meant. Or how Mic was able to open his mouth like that..._

_Nothing is said until Ectoplasm breaks the silence, "Aizawa and I are trying to work. Keep it down, teach our students… and stay off the desks."_

~End of Flashbacks~

Ah, yes. Present Mic was well known for being _responsible _with his phones… Which is why, this time, it was different—it wasn't Mic's carelessness that had caused it.

"Only you would add bass to your smartphone, Mic," Eraser jeers in a monotone voice. Despite the bus moving at _sixty miles per hour_, Hizashi stands up without effort—tiny objects from his phone case still in his hands. He jets his lower jaw outward and crosses his arms.

"I'll have you know, Eraser, that phones with bass speakers are a thing—it's popular!" Yamada then ganders at their oddly quiet students. "I bet even some of our listeners have 'em—am I right?" He addresses them while bringing his own hand up into the air. With blank expressions, Jiro, Kaminari, and about six others—including Kota of all people—rose their hands. "See?"

"Keep your hands up if you have them on the sides," Shouta challenges. Everyone puts their hands down, and Yamada feigns hurt with a hand over his chest. Like Jack Sparrow—minus the slurring and weird movements—Mic points at all of the passengers-

"Ya'll don't know what you're missing out ooooon!" Then he faces his dressed-in-black co-worker—leans over him and places the back of his large palm against his own cheek. The students—realizing they wouldn't be able to hear anything anyway—take the hint and resume their own chitchat. Eraser moves away from the blondie in order to keep his personal space. "By the way," the whisper travels into the teenage pro's ear, "have you been hanging out with Ms. Joke recently?"

'_How in the hell does she consistently manage to get into my daily life,'_ Shouta thinks as he folds his arms. "No."

A disgruntled groan stays stuck in Aizawa's chest when he realizes his mistake—he had scooted far enough for Yamada to accommodate himself. The DJ settles right next to the youth, and Aizawa automatically takes a hold of his own weapon—threateningly telling the other to keep his distance. He didn't want another smothering hug—not like the one he received earlier. The one he got after the moron had gotten out of Bakugo's tackle.

"Could've fooled me, bro—you literally just made a pun a few moments ago," Hizashi points out and almost smirks at his friend's bewilderment. "'_Stop acting like you're __**crushed**_,' sounds like something she'd say—after what you did—facts or not?"

'_I am truly destined to go insane aren't I...' _Aizawa hugs himself further and takes interest in the powerlines outside—his huff falling under the sound of their moving ride. "Not."

"Whatever ya say, Sho," Yamada lopsidedly simpers at the other's fluster. "Whatever you say!"

"..."

Then Shouta hears a '_ting'_ that only comes from a certain swap game—his clenched jaw slackens as he slowly glares at what Hizashi held. He forcefully glued his fists to his sides—keeping himself from punching the other.

The blonde wasn't aware of the other's attention—he just kept playing on his other smartphone. Irritation escapes Aizawa in the form of a sigh and he leans his throbbing head against the tinted windowpane—in order to calm himself down, '_at least he'll be distracted…'_

The homeroom teacher pulls out his own device, and—for the third time today—peeks at the messages from RG. Again, none of them were new—and that was starting to bother him. Away from Hizashi's sight, he texts, '_**everything fine?'**_

He stays still for a few seconds—forehead smooshed on the glass as he waited, and then a reply arrives.

'_**Everything's okay dearie, Iida's fever has lowered and he's sneezing less. He's still vomiting but other than that he's doing a lot better. He'll be fully recovered by Monday.'**_

'_... on the day of the presentations…' _he notes. Knowing Iida, he'll focus on working rather than recovering… great. Aizawa didn't like giving his students extra time—what good would that teach them? In the real world, heroes were never given that…

But last time he saw Tenya, he was throwing his guts out in a bin at RG's medical wing… close to passing out...

"..."

'_**Tell him he's exempted from the class project until Thursday.'**_

A beat goes by, and then another text pops up.

"_**Would it kill you to say please?" **_Aizawa could see the frown on her face. He runs a hand through his hair.

"_**Please."**_

"_**Will do, dearie. Also, when you get back, I want to see you in my office."**_

Now that sent chills down his spine… He stood up a bit. Hizashi, who was next to him, came out of his _lala-land _videogame—due to Shouta's sudden shift in demeanor.

"_**I won't be back until Friday afternoon," **_he tries. Shouta knew that Recovery Girl took Friday afternoons off—all P.E. classes usually took place before 12 pm, and they were scheduled to come back at around one. He's gut, however, told him to not be too hasty in his gratefulness.

Why was his intuition almost always right?

"_**I'm staying for a meeting. I'll meet you there, sweetie."**_

He didn't need to text anything back—she knew that he got the gist. Guess he shouldn't be surprised that she knew about the museum incident… the staff and their gossiping, ugh…

He doesn't want to think about how they'll react when he arrives...

He places his phone back into his pocket.

"Dang, she's definitely not happy with you…" Hizashi says and then goes back to his device—like nothing happened. Shouta had half the mind to shove the other off his seat, but he decides against it. He'd probably end up getting hugged…

Accepting his fate, for when he got back, Shouta just lays his head against the window again.

He ignores the sounds of Yamada's mobile game and listens to the hushed small-talk of his pupils—and a while goes by without drama. Somehow, after all this madness, a small sense of peace washes over him. He knew that they were still uncomfortable about addressing him… But, whether or not his students were still buzzing about his current problem, it didn't matter. If they were safe, he was content. Their chattering provided him a white-noise—conversations growing and shrinking—back and forth—in their intensity. The vibration of the bus only causing more drowsiness. And by the time the bus enters the other highway, he doses-off—hair covering the majority of his features.

"..."

Green orbs glance at him.

The end of their eyelids crinkle…

0~ 0~0 ~0

"Sir," a man—dressed in a black suit—enters a large office. Holding a vanilla folder, he approaches the person sitting at the main desk.

The director brings his eyes up from his computer and acknowledges his co-worker—tacitly telling him he was listening. The agent begins to inform him.

"In regards to yesterday morning's mission, we were unable to make the last arrest," the man adjusts his glasses, "the escapee is still on the loose."

"Yes, I am aware of that," the FBI chief affirms, "were our men able to gather any clues? Eye-witnesses? Recordings? Anything that would give us intel on his whereabouts?"

"No, sir—it's as if he never existed."

The chief sits up in his chair.

"What about his identity?"

His right-hand man shakes his head, "our suspects won't talk—one tried to take themselves out…'

The chief sighs—lays back in frustration. The media had already covered the heist and gave full credit to the FBI. It was supposed to be given to the local police, but—somehow—they managed to discover the FBI's involvement.

It wasn't exactly top news though—Eraser's incident yesterday afternoon was ironically catching more attention—but their operation did garner the public's eye. And it was starting to make authentic-proof more difficult to detect. They've already received forty-six red herrings, and only one actual eye witness—except she wasn't much help. She'd been taking the metro—at a station where twelve different train tracks connected. She only saw a glimpse of the guy—hopping on top of a few trains. Mist trailing behind him.

Of course, Japan's FBI searched there—but it was all for naught in the end. Whatever his quirk was, it had allowed him to move quicker than they had thought...

"However—thanks to Detective Tsukachi's underground knowledge—we have discovered three possible associates connected to the thieves."

The chief folds his hands on top of his lap as the agent pulls out three photos from his folder. He places them on the metallic surface of the desk and pushes the middle one forward.

"One of which is more likely to go after citizenship data—as they have done so before."

The leader observes the picture of a young man walking down a flight of stairs. His dark brown hair lightly glistened from the night lights around him—most of his body and attire covered in the shadows. A crimson accessory protruding out of his face like a muzzle. But what caught his attention the most were the eyes above that beak-like-mask—two stark, cold gold irises stared just beyond the camera.

* * *

**(Author's Note):**

When that bug slammed into Mic's window (BUGGIE): you-tube watch?v=M5fSQgMBb-Q

(My sis put this at the very moment that I re-read that scene). X'D

(WARNING: it's ear-rape!)

Oh and here's the soundtrack that Hizashi was dancing to: you-tube watch?v=YcrqRwwYDhA  
(It seriously sounds like him singing in the background).

Also, I just love how Hizashi has entomophobia. I can freaking relate to that since I've got moderate helminthophobia. Freaking scary.

* * *

[If you guys ever draw any of these scenes, send me a link—in the reviews—so I can see/put the link here in the fic!]  
(Have an idea for this story? Send it in the reviews and I'll consider)!


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